


The Future Soon

by lady_ragnell



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Screw Destiny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-11
Updated: 2012-01-11
Packaged: 2017-10-29 08:31:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/317838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_ragnell/pseuds/lady_ragnell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur sees a vision of himself and Merlin married and happy, but they can barely stand each other. They both start doing everything they can to avoid it happening.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Future Soon

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Ближайшее будущее](https://archiveofourown.org/works/929317) by [foina_cale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/foina_cale/pseuds/foina_cale)



> Written for [this prompt](http://kinkme-merlin.livejournal.com/23407.html?thread=22795631#t22795631) at kinkme_merlin.
> 
> Title by Jonathon Coulton.

Morgana, for some reason Arthur cannot fathom, insists upon playing party games that Arthur didn’t deign to play when he was thirteen at her dinner parties, even though she’s knocking thirty. “Twenty-eight, Arthur, it’s not like I’m ancient,” Morgana says while they bring the dishes into the kitchen for Morgana to corral someone into washing later. “And this isn’t just some sort of game for children’s sleepovers.”

“You’re a Seer, Morgana, what do you need to set up a scrying mirror for?”

She arches an eyebrow and lowers her voice until it’s covered by the conversation in the next room. “What, are you afraid? It’s not like Uther knows you’re using magic, Arthur, and I don’t know why you should care if he did. He’s bigoted and behind the times and I am tired of you catering to him.”

“He’s my father, in case you hadn’t remembered. Not to mention yours.” Her jaw tightens like it does anytime someone mentions that fact. “Well, he is,” Arthur adds, as apologetically as he can manage. “And you’re avoiding my question.”

“Because despite Morgause’s training, I can’t just ask my dreams a question, you idiot. I’ll probably set the mirror for five years from tonight, and I certainly couldn’t get anything specific like that even if I did manage to control it and dream about … Merlin, for instance.” Arthur grimaces, and of course Morgana smirks at him. “Congratulations on being civil for once, by the way. Almost polite, even.”

“Sod off.” Arthur finishes organizing the dishes, since chances are he’ll be the one Morgana makes do them later. “So, who are you trying to traumatize tonight?” She blinks at him innocently. “You always have a victim in mind when you take out the scrying mirror.” Although nobody talks about the time when they were fifteen and Morgana wrestled him into looking three years ahead and he saw himself and Gwen in bed, because that was a bad job all around. He’d been convinced for those two years that he was destined to be with her and she broke up with him two weeks after the night he’d seen, since they were heading to different universities.

“You’ll have to see, won’t you?” She grins and ducks back out of the kitchen, so he sighs and goes back to the table while she goes to the storage cabinet to get out her scrying mirror.

Merlin and Lancelot fall silent when Arthur comes in, so Arthur doesn’t really need Gwaine’s cheerful “Princess, we were just talking about you!” to know whom they were discussing.

Arthur’s seat, of course, is right next to Merlin’s, since Morgana delights in torture and doesn’t seem to accept that her brother is not all that fond of one of her good friends. He thinks about making a point of not sitting down, but that would be petty. “Yes, I’d noticed.” That makes Merlin’s ears go red and everyone else look a bit shamefaced. Except Gwen, who just narrows her eyes at him and then goes back to asking Elena something about her veterinary practice. After a tense moment, everyone else manages to find some thread of conversation as well. “Looking forward to having your future told, Merlin?” Arthur asks, doing his best to keep his tone light.

“Scrying’s never been very accurate for me,” says Merlin with a shrug. He doesn’t bother even looking at Arthur. “Gaius, my uncle, he does lectures on healing magic at the university--”

“I know who your uncle is, Merlin, everyone does.”

Merlin glares. It should look ridiculous, but with Merlin there’s always a bit of a reminder that he could turn you into a newt with one look, and Arthur hates it. “Right, of course, even pretentious wankers whose fathers have been working against magician’s rights since--”

“Merlin,” murmurs Lancelot, coming effortlessly out of his conversation with Leon.

“I’m too powerful. It distorts most tries at scrying,” says Merlin after another glare, this one in Lancelot’s direction. “Morgana’s powerful, though, so she convinced me to give it a shot.”

“And you will certainly see something, even if it’s not long or exciting,” Morgana says as she comes into the room, ornate mirror in hand. Morgause gave it to her, of course. Arthur can only be grateful that the harpy is on a business trip to France or he would have to deal with her and Merlin at once and that’s only doable once or twice a year. “Five years in the future, most of you will only get visions about thirty seconds long.”

“Thirty seconds is enough,” says Gwaine. Elena smacks him. Leon grimaces. “Shall I start, Morgana, since I’m to your left?”

Morgana goes to sit back at the head of the table. “In a minute.” She intones the spell to set the time on the scry with the same drama that any girl with a bit of power might for her friends right before they play a game of Truth or Dare. If anyone says the words “soul mate” Arthur is leaving, dignity or no. “There,” she adds on the end. “Gwaine, you may start if you wish.”

Of course Gwaine wishes. He watches in a trance for thirty seconds almost exactly, and comes out of it laughing, though he refuses to tell any of them why. “I’m going to have some good nights in five years,” is all he’s willing to say before he passes the mirror to Elena next to him.

Elena sees a horse ride out in the country and passes it to Leon, who flushes under his beard when it’s over and doesn’t say much beyond that before giving it to Elyan. Elyan, it seems, will be visiting the Taj Mahal in five years (Gwen just looks long-suffering), and he grins about that before passing the mirror across the table to his sister.

Gwen’s trance lasts a bit longer, and she’s smiling and teary-eyed when she comes out of it, pressing a hand to her stomach in a way that makes what she saw very obvious indeed. Lancelot looks delighted when he takes the mirror from his wife, and even more delighted when he looks away from it--obviously he saw their little bundle of joy as well. Arthur spends most of Merlin’s trance reflecting that the two of them are going to be insufferable to be around until they actually manage to get their brood started now that they’ve seen this.

Merlin, though, comes out of the trance after nearly a full minute like he’s coming out of a nightmare, giving Morgana a wide-eyed look that’s more horror than surprise. “You rigged that as a joke,” he accuses.

“I did no such thing,” she replies without a bit of a break in her serenity, though Arthur knows her well enough to know that she’s amused. “Now either tell us what you saw or give the mirror to Arthur.”

Whatever it is, Merlin must really not want to talk about it, because he nearly drops the mirror handing it to Arthur. “Such a girl, Merlin,” says Arthur, and looks in the mirror. For a split second, there’s just his exasperated face and then--

 _He’s nuzzling at someone’s ear, nose buried in short hair, sitting on a couch that he knows isn’t the one he’s got now. He gives the earlobe a light tug with his teeth and whoever he’s with huffs out a light laugh. “Seriously, Arthur, if I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times, just because they’re large doesn’t mean they’re sensitive--”_

 _And Arthur knows that voice, although he’s never heard it like that, fond and a bit breathless, but he can’t possibly believe it until himself five years from now pulls away to meet Merlin’s eyes. Merlin is smiling at him, bright and unabashed, and Arthur’s never seen that smile when Merlin knew he was in a room and certainly isn’t prepared for it this close to him, so he misses the first bit of what his future self says. “--help myself and you know it. And I’m storing up.”_

 _Merlin’s smile goes soft, and he kisses Arthur’s jaw like he does it a hundred times a day. “It’ll be just like before.”_

 _Arthur grabs Merlin’s hand, presses palm-to-palm with him, and there’s the rasp and slide of metal on metal when their ring fingers meet. Arthur doesn’t need to look down to know what that means, but apparently this future version of him does, because he traces the rings first with his eyes and then with his fingers. “Not quite like before. Gods, I don’t want to go back to work.”_

 _That settles it. In the future Arthur will obviously have a terrible case of Stockholm Syndrome for Merlin, because he always wants to go to work in the mornings, to prove to his father that he can take over the business when the time comes (even if he plans to put more progressive hiring policies in place the second the business is in his name), and he doubts that will ever change. “Soon, though--”_

 _Whatever the Merlin of the future is about to say is cut off when the Arthur of the future kisses him, full on the mouth and hard. Merlin gasps into the kiss, and Arthur presses him down against the couch, hands urgent at the buttons of his shirt, and--_

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Arthur,” Elena observes from across the table.

Arthur practically throws the mirror at Morgana, very carefully not looking at Merlin, who is going to kidnap him and brainwash him in a few years, since there is no other explanation for that ridiculously soppy vision. “I’m at a business party,” he lies. “The speeches are more boring than usual. I thought I would have got out of something like that by now.”

Morgana just smiles and doesn’t look in the mirror herself before suggesting a game of poker. Arthur is very careful not to look at his right, where he knows Merlin is looking at him with an expression that screams _You are a liar, because I saw it too._  
*  
“Arthur, it’s been a while. Where have you been?” says Leon the second he answers the door.

Arthur holds out the bottle of six-pack of cider he picked up. Normally Leon doesn’t have anything more than wine in his flat and Arthur is not going to make it through this evening without drink. But Morgana has been teasing him for avoiding them all month, and Elena is getting worried, and all told Merlin is less likely to show up at one of Leon’s gatherings than anywhere else. “Things have been busy at work. Father is trying to bring a new client on.”

“Ah.” Leon fidgets at the door, and Arthur suspects they’re about to have one of their rare and awkward discussions about feelings, which he generally tries to avoid. “I just wondered … well, Merlin has been avoiding everyone as well. So I wondered if perhaps you two had a worse fight than usual or something.”

“Just busy at work, as I said.” Arthur tries not to grimace, as Leon’s words are as good as confirmation that Merlin saw what he saw in the mirror, or at least something like it, and unless Morgana really did rig the visions, two people seeing the same thing is … significant. However, choices can change things, and never seeing Merlin again would do a neat job of keeping them from getting married. And subsequently divorced, no doubt. “Besides, have you ever known me to back down from an argument with Merlin?”

“I suppose not.” Leon finally lets him in. Morgana and Elena are already on the couch in front of the telly, watching something with pregame commentary, drinking wine from the bottle. Gwen and Lancelot, it appears, have opted out of watching the match, but Elyan is sprawled on an armchair, Gwaine is trying to steal the wine from Elena, and … fuck. Merlin is standing in the kitchen, carrying a bowl of crisps and staring at Arthur like he’s seen a ghost.

There is a long, long moment of silence that only Leon witnesses. And possibly Elyan. Luckily the other three are busy with their wine, they’re the three most likely to give Arthur a hard time. “Merlin,” he acknowledges eventually. “I didn’t realize you were a football fan.”

“Morgana promised me alcohol, and I’m too broke to buy my own this month. But she’s hogging all the wine.” Merlin raises his voice for the last bit. He still hasn’t looked away from Arthur.

“Give him a bottle of cider,” Morgana calls, not bothering to look up from kicking Gwaine in the shoulder to keep him away from the wine. “And you can probably turn water into wine or something, Merlin, you just wanted to get out of that tomb you call a flat for a night.”

“Really _bad_ wine,” mutters Merlin, like doing it at all doesn’t break most of the scales they’ve got for measuring power.

“If it will stop you whining, you can have one of my ciders,” says Arthur, and pulls one out to throw it at him. Merlin catches it with magic, not with his hands, and Arthur rolls his eyes before shouldering past both of them to take a seat on the bean bag chair Leon’s laid out on the floor next to the couch (he has never asked why a man in his late twenties still has a bean bag chair; he probably doesn’t want to know the answer).

Watching the game is more than a bit awkward. It shouldn’t be, he and Merlin make enough silent effort that it shouldn’t be, but every time one of them starts an argument about a call in the game or even who should make more popcorn, the other one stops it before they can really get started and they go back to ignoring each other as well as they’re able. Morgana and Gwaine look vastly entertained by it all, Leon and Elena look worried, and Elyan just stares around at them all like he thinks they’re mad.

Arthur goes into the kitchen at a boring part of the game, more than a bit tipsy after drinking four of the six ciders in his six-pack (the other two having gone to Merlin and Leon, respectively), and Merlin follows him there under a minute later. He nearly drops the glass of water he’s just poured when he turns around to find Merlin standing closer to him than he ever has (in reality, at least). “We need to talk about this,” Merlin says with the sort of earnest determination that can only come from being a cheap date who Morgana has been plying with wine all evening. She refuses to give any to Gwaine on principle, but Merlin she coddles and boozes up like he’s some sort of alcoholic lapdog.

“Actually, we should never mention it again. Ever.”

Merlin sways a little bit closer, and yes, that’s definitely the closest they’ve ever stood. Normally they take care to have at least one other person there between them so they don’t kill each other or start shouting in public places. “I’ve been thinking we ought to work out a custody arrangement. Like, you get events that Morgana hosts, because she’s your sister and also she’s evil. And maybe Leon’s, since you were at school with him. And I’ll get Gwaine, and Lancelot. We can share Elena and Gwen, they like us both.”

“Lancelot and Gwen are married, though. They host events together.”

That conundrum seems to be beyond Merlin’s poor little drunk brain. “I get Percival, then,” he says eventually. “Lancelot and he are getting to be good friends, I’m sure he’ll get adopted eventually.”

“Who gets me?” asks Elyan from the doorway, sounding more sober than either of them, and both of them jump and turn around. He looks far too amused. “Are you two really divvying up your friends out here? Didn’t think you hated each other that much.” He walks around them to get another packet of crisps out of a cabinet. Leon’s cabinets seem to spawn crisps, which is odd, because he doesn’t actually like them that much.

Arthur attempts to focus on the subject at hand. “It’s safer this way.”

Elyan looks between them. “Safer for everyone who doesn’t want to get involved in another nuclear-level argument about magic users’ rights? Nice of you two to think of the rest of us.”

That is an excellent excuse. Arthur plans to use it with everyone who questions this new arrangement, which will hopefully be this brilliant when he’s fully sober. “Yes, that is exactly what we’re doing.”

For a second, there’s only the noise of Elena and Gwaine booing a call the referee made at the match, then Elyan starts laughing. Quietly, but he’s definitely laughing. “Oh, gods, you two actually finally fucked, didn’t you?”

“Not if we can help it,” says Merlin with the conviction of the truly pissed. “We are trying to change the future. It is absolutely vital.”

Elyan has to clutch the refrigerator handle to stay upright, he’s laughing so hard. Someone is going to get suspicious. “That’s what got you two’s knickers all in a twist at Morgana’s party? You saw yourselves sleeping together?”

“We were _married_ ,” blurts Arthur, because he actually hasn’t said the most horrifying part of it aloud yet. If he and Merlin had just been fucking the lights out of each other, that would have been one thing, but they were cuddling. And wearing _rings_.

Merlin grimaces. “Someone brainwashed us. Probably Morgana. Brainwashed us and forced us to get married. You were all …” He flaps a hand about. “Nice. It was weird.”

“There is absolutely no hope for you two,” says Elyan.

“Oi, arsehole,” calls Gwaine from the floor in front of the couch, where he’s still having far too much trouble coaxing alcohol out of Elena and Morgana. “Where are you with those crisps?”

“Please don’t tell anyone,” Arthur says before Elyan can leave, because he still looks far too amused. “No one. It’s just a possible future, it hasn’t happened yet and it won’t happen. At all. Ever.”

“Right, of course.” Elyan backs out of the kitchen before Arthur can take him to task for his disbelieving tone.

“We’ll work out that custody arrangement,” says Merlin, and follows a few steps behind Elyan.

“Fuck,” says Arthur, and wishes he’d brought another pack of cider.  
*  
Arthur wakes up a week later hard and aching, and he’s two strokes in before he remembers what he was dreaming about. Merlin. He was dreaming about Merlin, and while that’s not unheard of--they don’t get along, but he doesn’t deny there’s something alluring about Merlin for all he treats Arthur like an extension of his father and nothing more--it’s always been about Merlin on his knees, or on his back. This time, he just remembers being curled up on the same couch he saw in the vision, playing with Merlin’s hair, of all things. He clenches his hands in the bedsheets the second he realizes it.

It’s just been too long since he was with someone, he reassures himself, so his brain has apparently latched onto this vision of himself and Merlin. Nothing to worry about, it’s just like that summer when he had an inadvisable crush on a girl named Sophia and couldn’t get his mind off her even after she proved to be a conniving witch. All he needs to do is find someone else and he’ll forget all about Merlin and they won’t find themselves cuddling on a couch in five years (he doesn’t trust Merlin to prevent it, Merlin is useless for all he’s a powerful warlock). The future isn’t frozen, and this isn’t something he’s going to let himself fall into doing.

When he goes to work that day, he looks around at everyone with new eyes. He doesn’t have time to go to bars or clubs much these days, so someone at the company is going to be his easiest bet unless he wants to grovel to his father, or worse, Morgana (who would likely set him up on a blind date with Merlin anyway because she is impossible).

As luck would have it, Vivian King arrives in Arthur’s office just as he’s returning from his lunch break, a fury in heels almost as dangerous as Morgana’s. For all she’s a snob, she’s smart as a whip and pretty, with the added bonus of being as unlike Merlin as possible. He allows her to rant on about the deal they’re making with her father’s company for twenty minutes before interrupting her with a dinner invitation. She pauses in the midst of telling him that Camelot Corp is _lucky_ that the Kings are even considering this, since they’ve been established for generations and Camelot is practically a startup and stares for several seconds. “Are you absolutely mad?” she inquires.

“I know a place that does very good chicken.”

Vivian narrows her eyes at him. “If you are trying to seduce privileged information from me …” She trails off threateningly.

“Just dinner, I promise. Perhaps several dinners. Maybe even the opera.” She looks rather less than impressed. “I want to get to know you better.” Which is at least slightly true. Actually, the idea is growing more appealing by the minute.

She sniffs. “You may pick me up at seven. We will not be informing my father, as he won’t trust your motives. Take me somewhere nice.” Arthur nods, trying to swallow a smile. She may be a snob, but at least she’s never boring. “Now if you’ve quite finished wasting my time, I think I ought to go find my father, we’re meant to have a meeting with your sales team.”

“Of course. I’ll come by your flat.”

Vivian gives him a sharp nod and leaves, and Arthur spends the rest of the day ignoring the horrified looks that his personal assistant keeps giving him and making the reservation himself so word doesn’t get back to Morgana. Which it does anyway, of course. She calls him while he’s on his way to pick Vivian up.

“Are you and Merlin trying to make each other jealous?” she inquires without preamble when he picks up the phone. “Because neither of you has gone out with anyone in months while you do that ridiculous fighting-flirting thing that you do and then suddenly you both have dates on the same night.”

 _Thank the gods,_ Arthur thinks, because that means Merlin is trying to avert disaster as well, and they’re far more likely to be successful if they’re both working towards not working towards a relationship. Perhaps he’s more intelligent than Arthur generally gives him credit for. “Vivian actually has nothing to do with Merlin,” he lies. “Believe it or not, my life doesn’t revolve around him.”

For once, he’s actually shocked Morgana into silence. Sadly, it doesn’t last long. “The pair of you are ridiculous, and when Vivian dumps you you shall get no sympathy from me whatsoever,” she snaps, and hangs up the phone.

The first date goes surprisingly well. As does the second, and the third, and the seventh, and the ninth, and Arthur’s father nearly knocks him over with the force of the clap on his shoulder when Arthur tells him what’s going on. None of his friends seem terribly impressed with Vivian, but none of them mentions it, and Merlin’s busy with his new boyfriend, so for two months Arthur barely thinks about the vision at all.

It’s all ruined, predictably enough, when Morgana has another dinner party. “Bring Vivian if you must. Merlin is bringing Gilli. At the very least we’ll have entertainment.”

“You’re not to get the scrying mirror out again, then, since we already have entertainment.”

Morgana starts laughing. “So that _is_ what it’s all about. I’d wondered. What, were you two fucking?”

“Why does everyone assume that?” Arthur asks, then decides to change the subject before Morgana explains why. Knowing her, she has colour-coded lists of evidence for just this opportunity. “Vivian and I will be there, and no scrying mirror, Morgana. I mean that.”

So of course when he gets there, Vivian on his arm, Morgana greets them with the scrying mirror in her hands. Before Arthur can object, Vivian claps her hands with delight. “I haven’t played scrying games in years! What a lovely idea, Morgana.”

Morgana smirks at Arthur, who just glares at her. “I thought we’d pass it round while the roast finishes cooking. Come, sit in my living room. I don’t believe you’ve met Merlin yet, nor his boyfriend.”

Arthur trails after, since he has very little choice about it with Vivian’s arm clamped around his, and waves at all his friends before steeling himself and turning to Merlin, who is sitting next to a man with ears nearly as ridiculous as his and a rather mulish expression. Judging by the ostentatiously magical ring he’s wearing, he’s a sorcerer as well. Trust Merlin to pick someone who’s practically a clone of himself to date.

But then again, Arthur’s main criterion for picking Vivian in the first place was someone as far from Merlin as possible, and he sort of has to face the fact that Vivian is basically himself with tits and delusions of grandeur, so Merlin might have had a similar experience. “--and Gilli,” Morgana says, giving Arthur a significant look, at which he realizes he’s been staring at Merlin and his boyfriend, who apparently is joining Gwaine and Elyan in their Most Rubbish Name competition.

“Pleasure,” says Vivian, in the tones of one who is not actually particularly pleased, and turns back to Morgana, saving Arthur from having to exchange any significant looks with Merlin. “So, are we waiting for anyone else, or shall we start with the mirror?”

“You and Arthur are the last.”

Vivian gives Arthur a look through her lashes, confirming everyone’s suspicions as to why they were late. Arthur doesn’t meet anyone’s eyes. “We’re sorry to hold you up, then.” Arthur drags them to the last two chairs in Morgana’s living room. She’s brought out a few for the occasion, it seems.

Morgana smiles around at the lot of them when they’re all settled and holds up the mirror. “I’ve set the mirror for three years and a few months, for something different.” She hands it to Gwen, next to her. “Why don’t you start tonight? Then we’ll just go around the circle.”

Arthur ignores most everyone as the mirror goes around the circle, though he notes Elena’s blush and sudden refusal to meet anyone’s eyes and Gwaine’s disappointment at looking in on a boring evening when he’s home alone with the telly and no sign of anything else. Merlin and Gilli have near-identical poker faces, Arthur discovers, and he hopes that means they’ve seen each other.

He’s third from last, with only Vivian and Elyan yet to go, and he takes it and looks in, expecting for things to have changed quite drastically from the last time he looked in, and--

 _He’s in his office, and it’s dark outside. That at least is normal. Something nearby is playing “You Sexy Thing,” though, which is not._

 _Arthur-in-the-future picks up his mobile, and Arthur wonders how the hell his taste degenerates that much in so little time. “You changed my ringtone again,” says Arthur-in-the-future, and at least that’s a comfort. Probably it was Morgana, the witch._

 _“Are you still at work?” and fuck, fuck, it’s Merlin again._

 _“Only another half hour, I promise. Trying to sort out that snarl I mentioned to you earlier.”_

 _“You shouldn’t have to fix your father’s mistakes.” That tone’s familiar, the blatant disdain for Uther Pendragon. Perhaps he and Merlin are just friends in this future. They bond over their mutual desire not to get married and get to be mates. Arthur can live with that, he supposes. “He shouldn’t be making them, after this long.”_

 _Arthur-in-the-future’s reaction isn’t how Arthur would react to a mate, though. He slumps and rubs his forehead. “He’ll retire in a few years, and I’ll make it better then.”_

 _“And in the meantime you’re miserable.” Merlin’s voice softens to a dangerous degree. “Arthur, if he won’t let you change things you should just--”_

 _“We’re not having this argument again. I’ll come home soon, and we’ll talk about it then, but for now I’m sorting out this Mordred bloke.”_

 _Merlin sighs. “Okay. You know I’m not angry at you, right?”_

 _“I know. I love--”_

Arthur pastes on a smile as he comes out of the trance, though judging by Elyan’s expression he doesn’t do a very good job of it. In some ways, that’s worse than the first one. He doesn’t let _anyone_ talk about his father like that, not even Morgana, but he was accepting it from Merlin without any qualms whatsoever. “Working late,” he murmurs without looking at anyone, and passes it to Vivian.

She’s quiet when she comes out of her trance, and all through dinner, but Arthur barely notices because he’s too busy avoiding looking at Merlin in case Merlin is looking back.

Vivian breaks up with him quite spectacularly in a restaurant two weeks later, two nights after Merlin dumps Gilli, and Arthur can’t say that he regrets it too much. Clearly the dating-other-people experiment wasn’t a success this time, and he’ll have to think of another solution.  
*  
It’s sunny for once, it’s nearly summer, and Elena decides that it’s a lovely idea to have a picnic in one of the city parks three weeks after Vivian breaks up with Arthur. He shows up, under threat of pain from Morgana, to find out that Gwaine and Merlin are the only other two who could make it. “Where is everyone?” Arthur blurts out before he can even pretend to be polite and greet them.

Elena looks up from where she’s unpacking sandwiches. “Leon’s parents are in town, Elyan is sleeping off a date that apparently went on for a while, and Gwen is ovulating.” She pauses when Gwaine starts laughing. “I don’t think I was meant to say that last bit. Could we pretend I didn’t say that last bit?”

“We certainly can, Elena,” says Morgana, who would be mocking Arthur mercilessly if he ever said something like that but just beams at Elena like she’s a kitten frolicking about. “Also, Arthur, you’re rude. Can’t be glad for the company you have?”

“When it includes both you and Gwaine? No.” He sits down on the blanket someone laid out for them and finally forces himself to look at Merlin, who looks about as pleased with the situation as Arthur feels. The reminder that Gwen and Lancelot are whole-heartedly embracing their destiny is uncomfortable to say the least. “Merlin,” he acknowledges.

“Arthur,” replies Merlin, and they go back to studiously ignoring each other, which is a great deal harder in a smaller group, especially when Morgana draws them all into a discussion of Nimueh Lake, a magic user and front runner in the upcoming elections for Prime Minister, running against Uther’s friend Aredian.

The afternoon passes in a surprisingly pleasant haze, helped along by the bottle of wine Gwaine thought to bring, and Arthur finds himself halfway to dozing as the shadows get longer and the girls giggle about something inane and Gwaine harasses them. Merlin’s unusually quiet, considering how much he usually prattles on. Arthur forces his eyes all the way open eventually, because he may be willing to do pretty much anything to avoid marrying Merlin, but he was raised polite, and props himself up on his elbows to find Merlin watching him.

Normally he would tease Merlin, but he does the same more than he’s comfortable with whenever they’re forced to be in the same room. It’s a baffled look more than anything else, which is why they don’t mention it: they’re both trying to figure out what the hell it is that keeps having them paired off in a few years. Arthur knows Merlin is attractive, and interesting if nothing else, but Gwaine is both of those things as well and nearly as exasperating to be around, so it’s hard to figure out how his future has fixed on Merlin of all people.

“Fixed it yet?” he asks quietly under cover of Elena beating Gwaine about the head with one of her sandals while Morgana shrieks with laughter.

Merlin gives him an exasperated look. “How am I supposed to know? It’s not like I sit about in my flat nights staring into a scrying mirror just to make sure you and I don’t merge china collections. I’m not a seer, anyway.”

“Shocking. I just thought you might know, what with your …” Arthur wiggles his fingers about to signify the magic.

Merlin mimics the gesture. “Seriously? You can’t say the word? Worried that your father will hear you used it and scold you or something?” Arthur can feel himself go pale at that. Any other time, any other situation, whoever said something like that to him would find themselves with a black eye, or at least a fight they wouldn’t soon forget. With Merlin, he can’t decide if it’s worse or better, because Merlin must have seen them talking about his father in three years, must know what a low blow that is, but he also looks horrified the second he says it. “Shit, Arthur, I’m--”

“Oh, just shut up, Merlin,” says Arthur, because the other three are still too nearby and he doesn’t want them involved in the conversation. It’s a miracle Elyan hasn’t told any of them about the whole marriage thing. “I was just too lazy to finish my sentence, that’s all.”

“Of course.” Merlin breaks out into the grin that Arthur has never had directed at him in the present. It’s just as disconcerting as it was in the vision, and it takes Arthur a full five seconds to realize that he’s staring like an idiot. For a moment, it’s appallingly clear why his future self marries Merlin, and he feels like he’s stuck in one of the visions again, everything easy and golden in the late-afternoon sun while their friends giggle about _Strictly Come Dancing_ or something equally ridiculous a few feet away.

Then he realizes that this is exactly how people get brainwashed into making visions they see come true, just like happened with him and Gwen forever ago. They see something that could be based off a five-second fancy just before they look into the future and obsess over it until it becomes the only possible future. That’s undoubtedly his and Merlin’s problem. Arthur pulls back, and Merlin turns away, smile shrinking.

“How’s work?” Arthur asks when the silence gets to be too awkward. Merlin just gives him a disbelieving look. Arthur rolls his eyes and lowers his voice. “Unless you want Morgana interrupting in about five seconds to scold us for not making nice, you’ll make an attempt at conversation. I for one would rather she not find out about this if at all possible.”

“It’s _Morgana_. Odds are she knows already, and has started a pool with everyone else to bet as to when it actually happens.”

“As to when what actually happens?” asks Elena at exactly the wrong moment.

“The inevitable time when Merlin and I snap and try to kill each other,” Arthur replies promptly. Gwaine snorts. Morgana just smiles serenely. “If nobody else has placed their bets on the second week of August, may I?”

“Having either of you involved will skew the odds,” Morgana says. “You’ll just have to work it out yourselves.” Judging by the arch of her eyebrow and her vague phrasing, she’s got more of an idea than anyone but Elyan what’s going on. Arthur can only hope that she doesn’t mention it to anyone else. “Although if you were to arrange for it to happen sometime in late June, I wouldn’t object.”

“Like you need the money,” says Gwaine. “I, on the other hand, do, but I won’t sink to cheating.”

From there, the conversation degenerates into them all arguing about when the double homicide will occur (much to the confusion and alarm of everyone who passes by and happens to catch a few words), and by the time Arthur excuses himself to go home and get some of the work he’s been putting off done, a lot of the awkwardness seems to have passed. He and Merlin will still have to figure out some sort of solution, but at least now they can be civil to one another again.  
*  
Merlin calls a week and a half after the picnic, and Arthur picks the phone up more from curiosity than anything else. He and Merlin exchanged numbers because Morgana glowered until they did years ago now, but they’ve never actually used them. “I have an idea,” says Merlin once they’ve exchanged greetings.

“About our particular problem, or in general?”

“Our particular problem, of course, prat. Do you really think you’d be the first person I called if I had ideas about other things?”

“If they were business-related and you had the IQ of a cabbage, yes.”

“Since when do I do anything about business? I’m training to be a social worker.” Merlin sighs. “Anyway, I think we should sleep together.”

Arthur examines that statement from several angles and fails to find any that magically cause it to make sense. “So you want us to give in?”

“What? No!” There, Merlin sounds properly appalled again. Arthur was getting worried. “I have a theory that if we fuck now, we won’t end up getting married.”

“That is a completely rubbish theory, so you know.”

“What, you’re afraid if you have me once you’ll never want to stop?” Merlin asks, amused.

Arthur takes a second to consider the wicked little smile Merlin makes every time he does magic around Arthur, and those blinding grins of his, and the way he just melts into a boneless heap when he’s relaxed enough, and then dismisses it as the future attempting to brainwash him again. “Afraid of the opposite, in fact. You’ve just attempted to booty call me to change the future, obviously I’m irresistible.”

“Am I that transparent?” Merlin asks, sarcasm dripping from every syllable. “I want you, I--”

“I’ve seen that movie,” Arthur interrupts, biting down on a laugh. “Right, then, tell me why the hell you think sleeping together will solve our problem. I’m curious as to your logic.”

“My theory is that if we stop avoiding each other and sort of indulge it, the excitement and attraction will wear off pretty quickly, since we don’t have anything in common.” Merlin coughs. Arthur can’t blame him for being awkward, this is the most heinously unsexy proposition in the history of them. “We just get married because we put it off for so long.”

Arthur ponders that for a few seconds. “That’s rubbish,” he decides eventually. “For all Morgana whines about sexual tension, it’s not as if we’re collapsing under the weight of it.” And then, because he can’t resist needling Merlin: “Well, unless there’s something you aren’t telling me.”

Merlin makes a frustrated noise. Arthur fights down a grin. “Look, at least I’m making suggestions. And you can’t tell me you haven’t been thinking about it. We should just … get it out of our systems. And then we won’t be _thinking about it_ , because it’s weird, and the worst will have already happened and we can move on from it.”

“Gods, you sound like Gwen.” Arthur refrains from saying that sex wouldn’t be the worst. Sex with Merlin would probably be quite satisfactory. It’s the wondering what happens to make him trust Merlin of all people with how frustrated he gets at work, with how much he wants to change what his father does, not to mention the domesticity of it all. He doesn’t know what to do with any of it. “What brought this idea on, anyway?”

“Look, it’s just logic, yeah? The way we’re going now … I mean, think about it. It’s already happening. We keep trying to think of ways to end it, so we spend more time talking and all that, so eventually it sort of turns into us dating by accident, and we get married.” That actually sounds horribly plausible. “So maybe if we sort of go along with it for a bit, we’ll figure out that it’s not actually going to be anything that special.”

“It’s a pretty big risk,” he points out.

Merlin sighs. “Arthur. We’ve been talking for several minutes, and we’re arguing, but neither of us has hung up yet and it’s all pretty good-natured, don’t you dare say different. It’s already happening.”

Arthur hangs up, mostly out of spite.

The next day, after a particularly frustrating day of work, Arthur stops in a Seer’s shop when he gets out of the office. It’s a seedy little building in the middle of a street full of magic supply shops and art galleries and a particularly bohemian cafe, and he gets more than a few odd looks as he walks down it with his suit on and his briefcase in hand, but he refuses to go to Morgana and he wants to see if Merlin’s right about the path that they’re on. The man inside doesn’t so much as blink when Arthur enters, though. Which he shouldn’t, since he would be a pretty rubbish Seer if he acted surprised when customers came in.

The man is hold, with white hair and a neatly-trimmed beard and robes of the sort that magic users tend to don when they want to look mysterious and all-knowing for reasons Arthur can never fathom. “I am Taliesin,” he says in impressive tones. Arthur resists the urge to say that he’d guessed that, considering the shop is named Taliesin’s. “I assume you’re here because you want to know the future.”

“As pertains to something specific, yes.”

Morgana has said time and again that Seers aren’t mind-readers, and that dreaming they have no control over what they see and while scrying there’s no assurance that they’ll see anything useful. Arthur’s expecting Taliesin to start rambling about the stock market or something, but instead he just nods. “Come to the back room, then.”

Arthur follows, and finds himself in a dark room filled with crystals of all shapes and sizes. “You don’t use mirrors?” he asks, a bit surprised.

“Crystals are useful in the right hands.” Taliesin takes one off a shelf and peers into it for a moment. “I think this is the one for you. This one likes showing love.” Arthur bites down on a sarcastic comment, because Taliesin is still staring into it. “About three years from now, it seems. Are you prepared to see it?”

“I wouldn’t be here otherwise,” says Arthur grimly, and reaches out to take the crystal when Taliesin offers it. He looks down, catches a distorted reflection, and then--

 _”--pretend you’re sorry, because I know you aren’t!” Arthur finds himself shouting, and when he finds his bearings he’s standing in the kitchen of a flat he doesn’t recognize, facing off with Merlin, who looks halfway between concerned and furious. “You probably would have loved it if he disowned me.”_

 _“Actually, no, because I’m not a_ monster _. I won’t pretend I like him, not even for you, but I love you, and I’m sorry he hurt you. Now would you calm down and tell me what you were fighting about?”_

 _Arthur-in-the-future apparently doesn’t like being told to calm down any more than Arthur-in-the-present does. “What the fuck do you think we were fighting about, Merlin? Same things as always. Magic. You.”_

 _Merlin steps closer but doesn’t reach out and touch. “You don’t need to defend my honour or anything, Arthur. Magic, yes, I’m glad you fight him on that, but what he thinks of us doesn’t matter to me because you’ve told me it doesn’t matter to you.”_

 _Arthur looks at the floor, and when he speaks again, he does it quietly. “It matters when he won’t give me my mother’s ring.” His mother’s ring, one of the things she left to him when she died at his birth, entrusted to his father until Arthur wants to propose to someone, and he’s never even thought about touching it before, but apparently in a few years he will, and for Merlin, no less._

 _“Your mother’s--Arthur.” Arthur keeps staring at the floor. “Arthur, does that--”_

 _“I wanted you to have it,” he whispers._

 _“Arthur, look at me,” says Merlin, stepping closer still until Arthur can feel his body heat, and then he does look up to find Merlin shocked and bright-eyed. “Are you asking?”_

 _“Of course I’m asking, did you think I was asking for the ring as a--”_

 _Merlin kisses him, hard and bruising, and when he pulls away, it’s barely at all, and he whispers against Arthur’s mouth. “It doesn’t matter, I’ll marry you with a ring or without one, we can have our own tradition, it’s not like I wanted you to get down on one knee or anything.”_

 _“This is not how I planned to propose.”_

 _Merlin looks at him with so much naked love in his expression that Arthur feels absurdly like he’s intruding on a private moment even though he’s technically part of it. “I wouldn’t have it any other way. Do you mind very much about your father?”_

 _“I’m used to it, after two years of--”_

Arthur stares at the blank crystal for ten seconds after he comes out of the vision. He and Merlin are still going to get married, it seems; maybe even sooner than before, though he didn’t see that far. And it seems that their relationship has taken the powder keg that is his relationship with his father and blown it up entirely. He can’t regret that much--something will do it eventually, even if he manages to avert the future with Merlin; it’s been coming since uni, when Arthur realized that magic users aren’t evil and untrustworthy after all. At this point, the problem is that he’s almost starting to want this future; no more pretending to be a dutiful son, someone to come home to at the end of the day. “That wasn’t the answer you were seeking,” says Taliesin, jostling him out of his thoughts.

He’s being brainwashed by the future, he reminds himself. “Not really, no. How much for it?”

He and Taliesin settle up, and the Seer is luckily smart enough not to ask questions or chatter away. Arthur feels a headache coming on and isn’t sure he wouldn’t snap if he were questioned on it.

Still, he calls Merlin the second he gets back to his flat. “All right, you win. Your flat or mine?”  
*  
Merlin’s bedsit is small, but surprisingly clean. “I’d expected it to be a bit of a pigsty,” Arthur admits from the door.

“Magic’s good for cleaning.” Merlin smiles, but it’s tight and awkward. “Come in, would you?” Arthur obeys, since he’s got no particular reason to be difficult, and shucks off his jacket to hang on a peg on the door. There’s a moment of silence. “What made you change your mind?” Merlin asks eventually.

“I went to a Seer’s shop earlier.”

Merlin actually laughs. “You too? I thought the great Arthur Pendragon would be above that sort of nonsense.”

“What did you see, then?” Merlin bites his lip, and Arthur supposes he ought to make some effort as well. He can’t bring himself to explain the whole vision, how much it shakes him that he was planning to propose, and with his mother’s ring, because Merlin won’t understand that. Arthur almost proposed to Sophia years ago, had thought he and Gwen would be together forever once upon a time, had even vaguely considered marrying Vivian, but he’d never even considered asking his father for his mother’s ring. None of them would have been right for it. “I asked you to marry me,” he forces himself to say.

“I took you to meet my mother,” Merlin replies.

Arthur laughs, because the whole thing is absurd. Anyone else would be celebrating seeing this in their future, and he and Merlin are trying desperately to avoid it. He doesn’t even know why Merlin is avoiding it, other than their mutual mostly-cordial dislike, which isn’t holding water much anymore with them working together like this. Perhaps he ought to ask, but then he would have to explain in return, and he’s losing sight of his reasons. “I hope I charmed her,” he says, striving to keep his tone light.

“You dumped your breakfast in the trash when she wasn’t looking,” says Merlin, but he’s smiling. “Mind you, I don’t blame you, my mum’s a bit of a rubbish cook.” He glances at his kitchen, like that reminded him that he has a guest. “Can I get you something to drink?”

 _No,_ Arthur should say, _we both know why I’m here and we might as well acknowledge it and go straight to the bedroom._ “Water would be lovely,” he says instead.

“Gods, you’re posh.” Arthur just rolls his eyes while Merlin goes to the sink and fills a glass from the tap. “Here, hope it’s to your standards.” Just for that, Arthur makes a point of keeping a straight face while he drinks, even though it’s unfiltered and tastes of chemicals. Merlin fidgets while he takes a few gulps, trying to figure out how to do this, and ends up speaking again before Arthur can. “So how are we meant to do this?”

“In the usual fashion, I assume, unless there’s something off about you magic users.”

Merlin smirks. “It’s your first time with a magic user? I’ll be gentle, I promise.”

Arthur wishes suddenly that one of his visions had been of them having sex so he could have proper ammunition to mock Merlin with. “I won’t break.” He eyes Merlin. “And one would think you were scared of me. What are you doing all the way over there?”

The challenge is the right way to do it, it seems, because it brings Merlin over the three or four steps in between them until he’s nearly toe-to-toe with Arthur. Arthur finishes his glass of water and sets it on the nearest flat surface before turning back to Merlin, who is looking at him with uncomfortable intensity. “Shall we?”

Neither of them actually moves. Arthur wants to give up and walk out more by the second, but with this level of awkwardness at least chances are that they’ll never be able to even look at one another again, let alone get married. Still, it isn’t actually going to _work_ if he doesn’t do something. “For the love of--” He holds out his arms. “Come here, would you?”

When Merlin reluctantly gets within arm’s length, Arthur grabs his collar and reels him in, putting him off balance and making him catch himself on Arthur’s chest. Merlin’s mouth falls open to object, and Arthur kisses him. For a second, Merlin’s lips keep moving like he’s trying to talk, but Arthur just slips his tongue inside and it stops.

Merlin, he discovers within moments, is a good kisser (but he knew that already, though things can change in a few years), not sloppy or shy. He frames Arthur’s face with his hands and systematically goes about finding what Arthur likes best while Arthur holds onto his shirt and tries to return the favour.

“This would be much easier in my bedroom,” Merlin whispers a few minutes later, when Arthur pulls away from his lips to taste the curve of his jaw and the line of his neck. Arthur hums and kisses Merlin’s pulse point. Merlin sighs, and it ruffles Arthur’s hair. “That was a hint, in case you didn’t notice.” Arthur nips his ear in retaliation. “Ow! For the record, I may have big ears, but they’re not actually sensitive.”

Arthur pulls away quickly when he remembers the first vision he saw, Merlin laughing like that had become a joke between them. “I’ll try to keep that in mind in future.”

“The future is just tonight, in case you didn’t remember,” snaps Merlin, and Arthur reminds himself that he has no right to take offense. “That’s sort of the point of all this.”

“Fine, show me to the bedroom, then.”

“I was _trying_ ,” says Merlin, and grabs him by the hand to tow him across the tiny living room space into the even tinier bedroom, which is barely big enough for a bed and a dresser. “If you say anything, I will absolutely kick you out.”

“And leave us to get married because we die of sexual tension? You’ve got to take one for the team, Merlin.” Merlin just glares and drops Arthur’s hand. “Fine, I’m sorry, I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

Merlin goes through at least five facial expressions, and Arthur doesn’t manage to understand a single one of them. “That would be a first, and at a really inopportune time,” Merlin says at last, with an attempt at a smirk. “Are we going to do this?”

In answer, Arthur starts unbuttoning his shirt, and when he looks up, Merlin is stripping his own off over his head. They undress in relative silence, and it feels wrong. Arthur gives up before he even finishes shoving down his trousers and takes the one step he needs to get into Merlin’s space and take over undoing his belt. “We should do this because we want to,” he says as conversationally as he can manage. Merlin feels much warmer than he ought. “It’s not like this is some sort of great sacrifice. We’ll muddle through, if you don’t want to.”

“If you are just trying to make me admit that I want to shag you,” Merlin starts, and Arthur kisses him silent again. “I’ve been thinking about it, since the first vision,” he continues when Arthur stops to finish with his belt and shimmy his trousers off his hips. “I can’t say I’m not curious.”

“Curious isn’t good enough.”

Merlin kisses him. “Trust you to have an attack of chivalry at the worst moment. Seriously, Arthur. I want to.”

Arthur, for all he tries to be a gentleman, certainly isn’t a saint, so he finishes divesting Merlin of his trousers and pants and then takes off his own while Merlin stumbles his way out of his socks, which he of course left for last because he’s useless. This time, it’s Merlin’s turn to catch him by the shoulder and turn him around, right as Arthur finishes getting his kit off. Arthur rolls his eyes. “What?”

“You want it too, right? That wasn’t you having some massive breakdown and wanting me to back out so you wouldn’t look like an idiot or anything, right?”

“I don’t do anything I don’t want to do.”

“Except marry me, apparently,” says Merlin waspishly, and Arthur kisses him. It’s rapidly becoming his favourite way to shut Merlin up. Merlin kisses back properly, and Arthur grinds their hips together, enjoying the feel of so much naked skin against his own. It’s always been different, being with men--more points of connection, more skin to touch, less cricks in the neck from bending. Merlin, for all he’s thin, is tall too, and all his sharp angles press into Arthur in the right places.

It’s Merlin who tumbles them down onto the bed, but Arthur who manages to twist while they fall to land on top, which gets an annoyed huff out of Merlin. It’s all an illusion, of course, Merlin could have him pinned to the bed in seconds if he wanted it, but Arthur enjoys it while it lasts. He braces himself so he won’t crush Merlin and kisses him hard, with occasional little thrusts of his hips to check on the state of Merlin’s erection. When he’s fully hard and Merlin is starting to make little noises into the kiss, Arthur pulls away, half to speak and half to see Merlin glare at him glassy-eyed. “Unless you have any particular objections, I’m going to blow you.”

“Your _mouth_ ,” says Merlin, which is quite answer enough.

Arthur kisses him one more time, just because he looks a bit bewildered, and then moves on to his goal.

Merlin grabs onto Arthur’s hair and holds there after the first lick, and his grip gets progressively tighter as Arthur explores every inch of his cock with tongue and lips before closing his mouth around it and sucking. It’s been a while, so he doesn’t go very deep at first, but it doesn’t seem to matter much to Merlin, who’s quiet but squirming against the hold Arthur has on his hips, tugging on Arthur’s hair with every movement. Arthur pulls off when one particular trick he remembers from uni makes Merlin gag him and actually pull out a few hairs at the same time. “I don’t want to be bald when I’m thirty, thank you.”

In answer, Merlin moves his hands to the back of Arthur’s neck and pushes until Arthur takes him in his mouth again, moving slowly down until he’s taken as much as he can and then humming. Merlin’s hands tighten convulsively at his neck, which is only marginally better than the hair-pulling. He doesn’t object. It’s _good_. He doesn’t know what the difference is from Vivian--from everyone he’s had in the past five years, really--but it’s good.

Merlin comes without warning (well, in retrospect the hand moving back to his hair and tugging desperately might have been an attempt at that, but he was rather distracted with the taste of salt and precum and the way Merlin’s whole body was was just _trembling_ like he was about to burst), filling Arthur’s mouth with more than he’s prepared for. He pulls off so he doesn’t gag and spits what he can’t swallow off the edge of the bed while Merlin finishes with a grunt, catching Arthur’s neck and shoulder as he twists.

“I have to clean that in the morning,” says Merlin.

“Oh, shut it, you’ve got magic,” Arthur replies, and then Merlin is dragging him up the bed, since apparently he doesn’t need to recover after an orgasm. Arthur was expecting to have to finish himself off, since Merlin is useless, but that thought lasts about as long as it takes for Merlin to wrap his long fingers around Arthur’s erection before it disappears into a haze of heat. He doesn’t think Merlin’s using magic, but he’s honestly not sure, and it doesn’t take long to finish off. Merlin bends down afterwards and licks him clean, probably to prove a point. Arthur doesn’t mind. He’s nearly asleep.

Merlin comes back up to join him on the pillow when he’s done and runs his hands through Arthur’s hair, smoothing it down. “You can stay the night, if you want.”

“Excellent,” says Arthur, and dozes off.

The morning is … strange. Arthur wakes up tangled up in what seems like far too many limbs for them both having the requisite number, and even though they’re both hard, Merlin makes no move to do anything about it. He just smiles at Arthur and thanks him for the night. Arthur, who was about to suggest breakfast at least, finds himself standing on the other side of Merlin’s door in what feels like no time at all. “I’ll let you know if anything’s changed,” says Merlin with what’s got to be false cheer, and shuts the door.

Arthur stares at it for far too long, and only leaves when one of Merlin’s neighbours comes out of his flat and gives Arthur a funny sidelong look. When he gets home, he resists the urge to either go back to Taliesin’s or to call one of his friends to moan about how confused he is. The former is a bit of a terrifying thought, and for the latter he’d have to call Elyan, and he expects no sympathy whatsoever from that quarter.

Instead, he very carefully stops thinking about Merlin and whether they’re still getting married and why the hell he thought sex would make it go away when it’s just twisted him up all in knots. He goes for a run instead, and spends the afternoon with work reports that aren’t due for nearly two weeks. By the time Morgana calls in the evening and asks what’s wrong, he can lie convincingly enough to put her off the scent.  
*  
Arthur almost doesn’t pick up his phone when he sees Merlin’s name on his screen. They’ve been doing a very good job of not acknowledging one another’s existence in the month since they had sex, despite everyone’s best efforts, and he doesn’t particularly feel like breaking that record. Still, if Merlin is calling, he must have a good reason. Arthur answers the phone just before it goes to voicemail. “Hello?”

“I need your help,” says Merlin.

If he was expecting anything, it would have been a belated update after visiting a Seer and seeing if they’d managed to change the future. Merlin’s tone seems a bit off for that, though. “What’s the matter?”

“There’s a girl who works at your father’s company. Her name is Freya, and she’s--”

“One of the best workers we’ve got,” says Arthur automatically, because she does the data entry for his team and he does her performance reviews. “Nice, if shy.”

“Your father is going to fire her, and she can’t afford that.” Merlin doesn’t need to explain why. “I know it’s a long shot, but I had to ask if you can try to save her job. She doesn’t--he found out through her medical history. She got cursed when she was younger and got noted as a magic user on her records.”

Arthur hears a story or two like it every year. The company employs quite a lot of people, and sometimes when they can’t find another option a magic user will quietly join up. When they’re found out, their contracts are broken for one reason or another, nothing overtly related to their magic. He doesn’t like it, and there’s at least one magic user working at the company because Arthur falsified his records when his father went on a witchhunt, but there’s no way of making his father keep a worker once he starts suspecting magic. “I’ll do what I can,” he says, even though he knows he can’t do much.

“That’s all I want. I just … I couldn’t stand by when I know the one person who might be able to do something.”

“Thank you for trusting me to try, then.” He coughs. “I’ll try to have arrangements available for if it doesn’t work. You may tell her so.”

“You don’t need to do that. There are options for her.”

“The offer stands.” Arthur stares at his laptop screen and the numbers he’s been crunching on his couch. The whole mess with Merlin and the future has been good for his productivity at work, he can say at least that much for it. “I’ll have to figure out how to make him want to keep her on. He’ll just find a way around discrimination laws, he always does.”

“We get more of that sort of thing than you’d think, in the community. Let me know if you want connections.” He pauses. “Or Morgana, I suppose.”

“Yes, I ought to go to Morgana. Don’t want to bother you.”

There’s silence for so long that Arthur starts to wonder if the call has been dropped. “It’s not like I hate you,” Merlin says abruptly just as Arthur is about to hang up and think about trying again. “I just don’t much fancy being blackmailed by the future.”

“And you and I have nothing in common,” Arthur adds.

“And the in-laws would be terrifying.”

“And you--” Arthur sighs. “It just wouldn’t work. And I don’t much fancy being blackmailed either. I haven’t gone to a Seer’s shop since that night, to see. Have you?”

“Things have been busy.”

“That’s no problem. I just thought I would ask.” The conversation is starting to remind him of the ones he had with his father for the first six months after he was photographed snogging a man, not in the level of disapproval but in the huge fucking elephant in the room. “Well. I’ll keep you updated on the situation with Freya, and call if I have any issues.” Awkwardness with Merlin will be far easier to deal with than Morgana’s smugness.

“Thank you again, Arthur. I hope you can work something out.”

“So do I,” says Arthur, and hangs up before they can descend into silence again.

The next morning, he goes early to the office and takes the long way, and passes by Taliesin’s on his way. He’s walked by a few times since he went in, but this is the first time he’s considered trying again, seeing if they’ve made a difference. He doesn’t know what he would do either way, though, so he continues on to the office.

As he’d hoped, only Freya and a few other workers are in his department when he gets there. She jumps to her feet when she sees him, like she’s preparing to run, but she doesn’t object when he gestures her into his office and shuts the door. “Merlin was short on details last night,” he says when she’s standing before him like she’s expecting a firing squad, and enjoys the way she relaxes all at once. “Does my father already know you’re a magic user, or will we have time to fix your records before he comings in for the morning?”

“He knows, he just hasn’t talked to me yet. His secretary called down last night after he left to apologize for sending the records on before checking them.” She twists her hands together. “We still haven’t figured out what made him suspect me in the first place. I think it’s that I had a migraine last week and went to the company clinic. They pulled up my records then, and probably one of the doctors is loyal enough to tell.”

Arthur wonders if his father realizes that nearly everyone in his company is just waiting for him to retire and working against him as best they can. Even his son. “If he knows for sure, chances are large you won’t be able to stay in this office.”

Freya looks more than a bit panicked. “I know what happens to people who get fired from Pendragon for having magic. Not many will hire them.” She looks down. “Us.”

“We’ve got a few options.” He makes his voice as calming as possible, though he can’t say he’s good at it. That’s always been more Leon and Elena’s purview. Pity neither of them works at Pendragon anymore. “We can falsify your performance records before my father calls them up to find an excuse to fire you and I can strongly imply that you’re as much of a harridan as my sister and will run straight to Nimueh Lake and the other pro-magic activists to cry discrimination. That won’t keep you on, but it likely will give you a good severance package so you’ll have more time to try to find work.”

“And how would I find it? Merlin’s offered to help, but he’s taking courses and interning and the social services for magic users are pretty overloaded, thanks to--”

“My father,” Arthur finishes when she turns pink and stops talking. “I’ll write you a reference, of course. Not many people would turn you away if I did that, although word would get back to my father.”

“I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

Arthur shrugs. “I’ve been in worse, and will be in worse, I’m sure.” He thinks of conversations with Merlin in the future. This won’t be the last person he tries to save someone from his father’s bigotry. That, he vows silently, won’t change no matter whether he marries Merlin or not. “The only other option I can think of is a bit of a long shot, but I might be able to pull it off. However, it would require you leaving London.”

Freya puts it together without having to ask. “You think you could get him to send me to the new Wales office?”

“Like I said, it’s a long shot, but if I say the right things about diversity hires and just keeping you away from where you can do any harm … it’s cheaper to live, over there. But I know you might not want to leave your friends and family.”

Arthur looks away and boots up his computer for the day. He’s put in his password and gone searching for her files to do what good he can when she finally speaks. “If you can transfer me to Wales, I would appreciate that. It’s a steady job, and I haven’t got much here.”

It’s none of his business, so he just nods and busies himself with her file, cursing his inability to be comforting. For once, he actually wants Merlin around. He knows Freya _and_ it’s his job to be nice to people. “I’ll do my best to remove any references to magic that I can find outside of your medical file, then. I don’t think there are many. Now, if you like, we can get started on your work.” Freya flees before he can say anything else.

When his father arrives after a breakfast meeting, Arthur gives him twenty minutes before going up to visit his office. His father gives him a pleased smile. “Ah, Arthur, saves me having to send for you. I have to talk to you about a member of your team.”

Arthur shuts the door. “Freya, yes, I heard. That’s why I came to see you, actually.”

Uther gives him the gimlet glare that makes other businessmen shake in their boots. “Just because the girl is on your team doesn’t make her any less a user of magic. She can’t be trusted and she will be laid off just like all the others.”

“If you say so.” Arthur calls up every trick he knows after twenty-six years of dealing with his father. “I had an alternate idea, but if you insist, I’ll start going through her records for an excuse. It won’t be easy. She’s punctual, efficient, and cooperative. I’ve never had a problem on one of her reviews.”

“What sort of alternate idea, Arthur?”

He shrugs, carefully indifferent. “The Wales office is short-staffed at the moment, is all. She’s indicated in the past that she’s willing to move for the company. I was thinking of recommending her for a placement there before.” That’s a blatant lie, since he would be mad to send Freya away when she does some of the best work in his department, but his father might believe it.

“Why should I send her to Wales? Why should I keep her on at all?”

“For all I’m sure Aredian will pull ahead and win the elections, it might not hurt to make a concession or two in case Lakewins. She’ll take it as a sign of good faith and won’t be searching up every imagined infraction like she otherwise might.” Nimueh Lake, Arthur discovered thanks to Morgana, was a school friend of his mother’s, and talk of her usually makes his father listen for at least a few seconds. “And putting Freya in Wales will keep her away from the center of things so she won’t be able to sabotage main operations.” Any more will just make his father suspicious. “Anyway, I suppose it’s your choice. Just a thought. Now, I was wondering if the deadline for the numbers on the Mercia project could be moved back a day, since we’ll need time to find someone new to do the data entry.”

“I’ll consider your proposition about Wales. It’s always good to have the government on our side. And the Mercia figures are needed not a single hour after I’ve asked for them, Arthur, as always. You’ll find a way to do it.”

“Yes, sir,” says Arthur, and goes back to his department to wait for the results of his chat.

Freya gets called up to Uther’s office around midday, and at four o’clock the e-mail comes to his department congratulating her in very terse language for her promotion and near-immediate departure for Wales. Arthur makes a point of having a conference call in his office with the door closed while everyone else on his team swarms her desk, asking why they hadn’t heard about the move. He stays there until after she’s out of the office for a day.

That doesn’t stop Merlin calling while Arthur is walking back from work, the quick way this time. “Freya says you sorted it for her, and then disappeared so she couldn’t thank you.”

“She shouldn’t. She’s still being moved to bloody Wales, and besides, if she thanks me, my father will realize that I did something.”

“Then I’ll thank you. You did a lot better for her than most people in her situation get.”

“I only wish I could do it more often.”

“You will.” Merlin pauses, then clears his throat when Arthur doesn’t offer up a comment at that. Arthur just keeps walking. “Not because I saw it or anything. Because I think you would anyway.”

“Thank you.”

“I went to a Seer’s shop on my way to work this morning,” says Merlin out of nowhere, and Arthur catches his breath. “Because you seemed curious, and I didn’t think you’d go, so I thought perhaps it would be a return for the favour with Freya.”

“And?”

“Well, we aren’t together anymore.” Arthur wishes he could see Merlin’s face; most of the time it’s much easier to read than his voice. “Five years in the future, at least, we aren’t. I don’t know about what you’ll be doing then, you weren’t in the vision.”

There isn’t a polite question to ask, in the situation. Arthur asks one nonetheless. “You, though. You’re happy?”

“Sure I am.” Merlin laughs, but it doesn’t sound terribly convincing, and there’s a note in his voice that Arthur doesn’t recognize. “I’m not shackled to you, at least. Working the job I want to work.”

“Good. That’s … good.” He reaches his apartment building. “I’ve got to go. I suppose I’ll see you around.”

“Yes. Gwen and Lancelot are having us all for dinner soon and I don’t think either of us can miss. I’m betting they’re announcing her being pregnant.”

“I’ll see you then.”

“Sure.” Arthur nearly ends the call when he hears Merlin say his name again. “Thank you again,” he says. “Freya and I both appreciate it.”

“No problem,” says Arthur, and hangs up.  
*  
Arthur tells himself he isn’t going into Taliesin’s right until he walks through the door. But he’s curious about the tone of Merlin’s voice on the phone last night--was he lying? Was he less happy in that future than he wanted to seem?--so he takes the turn off the street at the last minute and pushes the door open.

Again, Taliesin is at the counter, and he raises an eyebrow in recognition. “Your fortune didn’t please you last time, so you’ve come for another?”

“Better to ask you than my sister. Might we get started quickly? I’ve got to get to work after this.”

Taliesin stands up. “To the back room, then.” Arthur follows and watches again as Taliesin looks around the room of crystals. He picks one from an entirely different shelf this time. “This one’s a bit of a wildcard sometimes,” he warns before he hands it to Arthur. “But it’s tuned itself about four years in the future for you, and it should answer the question on your mind.”

“Thank you.” Arthur takes it and looks inside.

 _“--proud of you,” Morgana is saying, words she’s certainly never directed at him before. They seem to be at some sort of party--not many people he knows, besides her, but he thinks he sees Nimueh Lake across the room._

 _“It’s not like I’m the Prime Minister or anything, Morgana. I barely live off the wages I get in the Magic Users’ Office.” Arthur-in-the-future waves at someone across the room, someone Arthur doesn’t know now._

 _“You’re going in the right direction, though. I knew it would do you good to quit Pendragon.”_

 _“It’s not that I had much choice.” From the way Morgana is staying close, it looks like he’s invited her to this function as his date. He tries very hard not to be horrified by that. “It was that or be shipped out to bloody Wales, and I couldn’t do much good there.”_

 _For the first time, Arthur wishes he could take control of his future self, so he could ask Morgana what prompted his departure from Pendragon. Did his father find out about his attempts to help people like Freya? Did he stand up to him? Where’s Merlin and why is it that Arthur was still working at Pendragon when they were married but isn’t now? She couldn’t answer that last, but he wants to know anyway. “We would all miss you if you went to Wales anyway,” says Morgana. “Well, not Morgause.”_

 _“Or Merlin,” says Arthur-in-the-future, too lightly, and Arthur winces._

 _She gives him the same uncomfortably intense look that she does now when he isn’t telling her something. “I don’t know why you can’t get along. It’s been years since you shagged.”_

 _“We did not shag.”_

 _“You are a dirty liar and you--”_

Arthur puts the crystal down. Taliesin is just watching, head cocked, but he speaks when he realizes Arthur’s come out of his trance. “You got the answer you wanted the first time.”

“I suppose I did.” And it’s a good life, when he thinks about it. Out from under his father’s thumb, working his way to make a difference in politics for the magic users he’s starting to want to help. Still friends with Morgana and with most of his other friends. But when he compares the vague contentment with an undercurrent of anxiety from this most recent future with the love and security of the others he’s seen, it doesn’t feel like he got the right answer. Maybe it’s why Merlin sounded so unsure on the phone: he said he had everything he wanted, but maybe there wasn’t that feeling behind it all that made Arthur come out of the visions near-breathless before. “I was starting to think the other future was inevitable. Bit of a shock to see that it’s not.”

“There are things that are meant to be, but that doesn’t mean they’ll happen, if you try hard enough to stop them.”

Perhaps he should know this. Morgana talked about it enough, when she was first learning, how she had to remind herself that not everything would come true, or come true the way she thought that it would. Still, three different futures at different times showed him married to Merlin and he doesn’t know what changed it at last. Was it Merlin kicking him out of bed followed by a month of no contact? Or were they finally determined enough? “And what happens if something that’s meant to be doesn’t happen?”

Taliesin shrugs. “Perhaps nothing much. Perhaps a great deal. What have you changed?”

“I’m no longer marrying someone.”

“And do you love her?”

Arthur doesn’t bother correcting him. “Not yet. That’s why we were trying to change it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to go. The same amount as last time, I assume?”

“You would be right.” Arthur rummages in his wallet and pays the fee before walking out, leaving Taliesin in the back room.

He should go directly to the office. He’ll be a bit early, but not too much so, and it would be prudent to toe the line for a while in case defending Freya made his father suspicious of his loyalties. There are still people to help, so he can’t leave yet, and it’s best to stay on his father’s good side.

Instead, though, he stops off in a small seedy park, more of a lawn with a fountain, just off the street with the Seer’s shop, and calls Morgana. “This had better be good, I’ve got a big project at work this week and I haven’t got time for nonsense,” she says when she picks up the phone.

“Caller ID has made your greetings so much less polite.” He can almost hear her roll her eyes and prepare to say something scathing. “I’ll cut to the chase, I promise. Do you ever dream about me?”

“I had a dream last week that you were wearing a hedgehog as a hat, but I suspect that’s not what you mean,” she says dryly. “If you mean prophetic dreams then yes, of course. I dream about all my friends and family sometimes, and you aren’t the exception.”

“What have you seen?”

Morgana sounds wary when she answers, and the background noise has faded some. “What’s the matter, Arthur? You never ask me questions about magic.”

“I’ll tell you after. Just tell me what you see when you dream about me.”

She sighs. “It depends, but I think I know what you’re after, since Merlin tried oh-so-casually to bring it up as well.” Arthur winces, but at least he isn’t alone in wondering. “I’ve seen you two together--married, even--on and off practically since you’ve met.”

“On and off?”

“Mostly on, to be honest, and sometimes I see one of you doing something at work or with other friends and it’s impossible to know, but yes, sometimes you aren’t, before you start getting stroppy about that. Nothing stays exactly the same over such a long span of time.” So it could be chance that he and Merlin keep seeing themselves married, or it could be “meant to be.” “Tell me why you’re asking.”

He hadn’t told her, in the future he just saw. But that’s something easily enough changed by choices. “At your flat, those two times, and another time besides that, Merlin and I saw ourselves getting married. And we’ve been trying to change that.”

“That explains why you’re avoiding each other so much. Gwaine and Elena and I were discussing why that might be the other day, but we figured it was just because you’d finally given in and shagged and were embarrassed about it.”

In for a penny, in for a pound. “Well, that too.” Morgana starts laughing, and he has to nearly shout into the phone to get her to stop, hoping all the while that nobody passing is actually paying attention. “We thought it might prevent us getting together.”

“That sounds like Merlin-logic,” she says in between giggles. “Why are you telling me now? Didn’t it work? Or should I be buying the two of you a china service?”

“It worked.”

Something in his tone stops her laughing. “Oh, Arthur.”

“I didn’t call you for pity.”

“I know you didn’t. What did you call for?”

“Confirmation, I suppose.” To see if she thought they were destiny or if it were just something that happened more often than not for whatever reason. “Anyway, I’ve got to go, I’m late for the office.”

“Fix it, Arthur.” He sighs and opens his mouth to tell her that nothing needs fixing, his life will be just the same in four years only he won’t be at his father’s beck and call any longer. “If you called me, it means you didn’t like what you saw. So fix it.” With that, she hangs up before he can, leaving Arthur to walk to the office.

Freya accosts him almost the second he’s through the door, ten minutes late. Everyone on his team stops to stare, probably because they think he’s more his father’s son than he is. “In my office,” he snaps. She follows without a word and waits while he puts down his briefcase and tries to put his morning trip to Taliesin’s and his call with Morgana out of his mind. “You don’t have to say anything,” he says at last. “It was the very least I could do.”

“It wasn’t, though. Merlin says he thanked you already for me, but I do want to say it for myself. It’s not everyone who would put his neck on the line just because his boyfriend asked for a favour.”

He doesn’t bother asking where she got the impression he and Merlin are dating; Merlin wouldn’t have told her, and that’s what matters. He just sighs and shakes his head. “Merlin and I aren’t together. We just know each other, is all, and he thought I might be able to help. Anyone with the ability and a conscience would have done the same.”

She blushes. “I’m sorry, I just assumed. He seemed so certain that you would help, and other than Vivian, we don’t hear much about what you do outside the office.”

At least she isn’t a Seer. “It’s fine, Freya. Natural assumption. It’s all fine.” And sometime he’ll give himself time to wonder why Merlin, who’s forever needling him for being his father’s son and not doing anything for magic users, believed that Arthur would help when he made that phone call. “I’m only sorry I couldn’t keep you in the office. I can’t imagine anyone else doing such good work.”

“I’ll be doing much the same at Wales. Tomorrow’s my last day.”

“Good luck, then.”

Freya just looks at him for a few seconds, intent, before speaking again. “Thank you again. And I’m sorry about making assumptions.”

He isn’t thinking about it, not at work. There’s been too much thought about it over the past few days anyway, and Arthur wants to be at home, not at the office, when he starts facing the fact that he was far happier when he thought he was going to marry Merlin. “No problem. Best of luck in Wales, if we don’t talk again.”

She takes that as the dismissal it is, and leaves him alone in his office to get his mind back on his work.  
*  
Merlin is late to dinner at Gwen’s, and by the time he gets there, Morgana, Elena and Gwaine have all been giving Arthur accusing looks for at least five minutes and even Gwen asked if they’d had a fight (“not that I think you can’t act like adults or anything, but you’ve been avoiding each other lately”). Elyan just sits back looking exasperated.

However, Merlin comes in looking just as cheerful and disorganized as ever, hair in a mess and a sheepish grin already on his face. “My mother called,” he explains when Elena scolds him. “I hadn’t talked to her in a while, or I would have been here sooner.”

“Dinner’s ready,” says Gwen, once she’s taken Merlin’s coat and kissed his cheek. “A few more minutes and we would have had to start without you.”

Somehow (Arthur suspects Morgana, although she doesn’t make any overt moves so he can’t be sure), Arthur winds up shepherded to a seat next to Merlin when they all seat themselves around Gwen’s big round table. It’s awkward for all of thirty seconds while everyone else settles down and Gwen and Lancelot start serving up dinner, and then Merlin blindsides him with a smile. Not one of his huge grins, but a smile nonetheless. “Freya said you seemed uncomfortable, but I did want to thank you in person.”

“It’s the least I could do,” he says, and holds out his plate for Gwen to dish some roast onto it. When Merlin opens his mouth, probably to politely disagree, he shakes his head. “I know you persist in thinking I’m a younger, better-looking version of my father, but I do actually have a heart.”

“I don’t think that. I wouldn’t have called you in the first place if I thought that.” Merlin’s so intent on him that Morgana has to snap her fingers in his face before he stops leaning all over his plate and lets Gwen give him food. When the scrutiny is off them, he speaks again. “I just know how hard it is for you to go against him. Better than I did before, I mean.”

Arthur does his best to keep his horror off his face, because it will get them attention, if they don’t have it already. Even though Morgana is making a point of chattering brightly with Gwaine and Elena, he suspects she’ll be watching them very closely now that he’s admitted what he sees in his visions. Besides, he thought they had a tacit agreement to _not talk about it_. “I’ll be doing it more,” he says, since there’s no use not acknowledging it now that Merlin’s mentioned it.

“Even--” Merlin takes a deep breath. Arthur makes a point of looking bored and staring at his plate. Everyone else is having their own conversations, but they aren’t deaf or stupid. “Even now that we aren’t?”

“Yes. Must we talk about this here?”

He finally risks a look at Merlin just as Merlin looks guiltily around the table. Obviously he doesn’t quite have the hang of stealth. “I suppose not,” he says after giving Gwen an awkward wave as she sits down at the seat closest to the kitchen. “I just didn’t know the next time I would get to see you in person so I wanted to say it while I could.”

Arthurs huffs out a laugh. “You could have asked to meet somewhere in private, you know.”

Merlin raises his eyebrows. “And you’d have come? I find that hard to believe.”

He answers without thinking. “Of course I would have.” When Merlin just blinks at him, it occurs to him just how quickly and firmly he said that, not to mention how much he meant it. “I do have some manners,” he adds to temper it, though he doesn’t think it works well.

Still, Merlin tries valiantly to make it one of their usual conversations, with both of them sniping at each other. Apparently the time for thanks has passed. “You wouldn’t know it from the way you act.”

Arthur rolls his eyes and leans a bit away, since he’s finally realized just how close they were sitting when they were talking about things he’d rather not have the others hear. “Oh, you’re one to talk. I’ve never eaten a meal with you where you haven’t spilled something all over yourself.”

Gwaine’s loud voice interrupts their conversation. “What are you telling secrets about over there? Can anyone join in? Or are they very scandalous?”

“Shut up, Gwaine,” Elyan and Morgana say in unison, and Arthur gives them a pained look. At this rate, the whole group of them is going to know what’s going on before the end of the night, and he really doesn’t want that.

Gwen, bless her, pipes up. “Yes, please do--I mean, not that you aren’t lovely to talk to, but Lancelot and I wanted to talk to you all anyway, that’s why we called you here tonight. Because you’re all our dear friends, and we wanted to tell you all at once so no one would feel slighted. Well, Elyan knows already, but he’s family, so that can’t be helped.” Lancelot takes her hand, and it doesn’t take a Seer to know what’s coming. Arthur glances around the table while Gwen and Lancelot exchange besotted looks; Morgana is smirking, of course, and Elyan is beaming. Leon, Elena, and Gwaine all look varying shades of confused transforming slowly into understanding. Merlin’s smile is growing improbably by the second--clearly Arthur isn’t the only one who remembers that first dinner party with the scrying mirror. “We’ve been trying to get pregnant for a while--since before your party, Morgana, so don’t you start--and the doctor just confirmed it last week. I’m a bit over a month along.”

Elena is the first to react, letting out a shriek and practically falling in Morgana’s lap to throw her arms around Gwen’s neck, and that brings on a celebration that Gwen probably should have started _before_ serving out their food, because everyone is going to end up with gravy all over their clothes if they keep leaning all over the table to hug the happy couple, and then each other when the happy couple is engaged with other people. At least Leon has the sense to stand up and walk around the table to clap Lancelot on the back and kiss Gwen’s cheek.

Everyone exclaiming at each other automatically makes Arthur turn to his right after he’s hugged Gwen and congratulated Lancelot, and he’s face to face with Merlin, uncomfortably close because Merlin was just leaning around Arthur to congratulate Elyan on being an uncle. They’re both grinning, and Arthur hasn’t been this happy in weeks, maybe months, maybe since he sat down behind his desk at Pendragon for the first time, and for a second it feels like one of the visions, like any second Merlin is going to wrap Arthur up in his arms and kiss him for the sheer joy of it and it would all be completely natural. Arthur tilts his head automatically, preparing, and--

Morgana kicks him under the table and Arthur jumps back so quickly he almost falls right into Elyan. He glares at her and she just raises an incredulous eyebrow before going back to talking animatedly with Elena, something about a baby shower that is unlikely to end well. Arthur braces himself and turns back to Merlin--who isn’t looking at him. Instead, he’s turned to his other side, gesticulating at Leon, who’s fighting back a grin, and it’s like nothing even happened, or it would be if Merlin’s ears and the back of his neck weren’t bright red.

“So when did it happen?” Elyan asks under cover of the chatter.

“When did what happen?” Arthur has a suspicion he knows what Elyan means, but he wants to be sure, and it’s a way to stall, at least.

“When did you two finally shag?”

At least he has the decency to ask quietly. Arthur doesn’t see much reason not to answer, although he lowers his voice to no one, not even Merlin on his other side, will be able to hear. “Nearly six weeks ago, if I’m counting right.”

Elyan smirks at him in a manner eerily reminiscent of Morgana. “Damn. Leon won.”  
*  
Uther storms into Arthur’s department at precisely 10:12 two Mondays later, and Arthur watches his whole staff stare in surprise, since it’s a rarity for Uther to be found anywhere but in his office when he’s at Pendragon. He expects others to come to him. However, Arthur is ready with an extra cup of coffee and the rigid chair his father prefers, which Arthur keeps in the corner of his office because nobody else likes it. He knew he would be getting a visit when he sent the e-mail this morning, and sure enough, twelve minutes after his father arrived in the office after a long breakfast meeting, here he is.

He doesn’t shut Arthur’s office door, and Arthur doesn’t bother asking him to. He’ll want to make the shouting as public as possible, and if he caters to him enough, maybe he won’t be dismissed out of hand. The first thing Uther does is slam a printout of the e-mail down on Arthur’s desk and then loom over him. Arthur stands to greet him smoothly, but his father speaks before he can get a word out. “What is the meaning of this, Arthur?”

“The recent … situation with Freya, as well as the current political climate, has made me realize that we need to expand our base of diversity hires.” If he’s going to make a difference, he’s going to start making it now; he’s going to _choose_ it. “We’re one of the highest-rated companies for hiring policies involving gender, ethnicity, and sexual orientation. Including myself.” Arthur gives his most charming smile. “However, the magical community questions our commitment to diversity because no one seems to get hired.”

His father is practically purple with rage, and Arthur braces himself. He loves his father, but even when he followed all the rules he was never good enough. He may as well concentrate more on his own conscience. “You know the reasons for that.”

Of course he won’t be honest with the door open. Everyone knows, but as long as Uther doesn’t say it aloud, he can discriminate against magic users as much as he wishes. “I do. But as I said, with the current political climate--”

“Damn the current political climate, Arthur! You sent this e-mail to Human Resources and they are going to take it as a suggestion to actively headhunt people from the magical community!” Perhaps he might have gone a bit too far, doing that. “You will send them a message and redact your previous e-mail immediately.”

Arthur crosses his arms, aware that the usual bustle outside his door has quieted. His team has been quieter than usual since Freya’s transfer, and Arthur’s been on the receiving end of more than a few glares. This might help him rise in their estimation again, at least. “You may do that yourself, if it matters that much to you. I certainly won’t do it.”

“Your loyalty is to this company, not to whatever foolish idea you have in mind at the moment, Arthur. What if an e-mail like that is leaked to the press? Our reputation is--”

“A joke,” Arthur finishes for him. “We’re behind the times, father, and I understand your position but we need to move from it before our clients start taking business elsewhere.”

He knows it’s a mistake before he finishes saying it, as losing clients is the one surefire thing besides mentions of Arthur’s mother that will make Uther lose his temper, but he can’t say he’s sorry about it. “How dare you? I have built this company from the ground up and--”

“It was just a consideration, in the wake of an event that hit my team close to home. I doubt Human Resources will do anything without checking with you first.”

“They will take this as an excuse to flout company policy and go out of their way to hire incompetents and potential embezzlers.”

“If they would take an excuse as flimsy as the one that e-mail offers, perhaps you might consider why they’re jumping at the chance,” Arthur snaps.

There’s a long, long moment of silence, unbroken by what should be the noise of Arthur’s team doing their jobs in the background. Arthur wonders if he should worry about the shade of violet his father has turned, but he doesn’t say anything conciliatory. Perhaps he’s foolish to draw a line like this, but he’s been planning it since he had Freya moved to Wales and saw himself away from his father’s company. It’s a future he wants to choose--not the loneliness, but certainly the freedom. If his father bends at all, he’ll stay. If he doesn’t …

“Think very carefully before you say anything else, Arthur,” Uther says in the same tone he used when Arthur failed a biology course and every time he got in the paper for doing something stupid. “You are the heir to this company, but that can be changed if I feel that you are not holding up its ideals.”

“Try removing me, and see how many employees stay.”

That is definitely too much, because his father goes from plum to pale in under five seconds, and straightens into businesslike calm. “Perhaps I shall,” he says, and then he’s stalking out of Arthur’s office and out of his department while nobody even pretends not to stare.

Arthur closes his eyes and stands there until he has himself fully under control. When that’s finished, he closes his laptop and packs his briefcase. If it comes to the worst, there isn’t really anything else in his office that he cares about. Owain, one of his team members, is standing at the door when he looks up. “Sir?”

“I believe I’m feeling ill. I’ll be working from home today. Keep things going on as normal.”

“Yes, sir.”

Arthur walks out of the department with his head held high. Word will get round that he went running with his tail between his legs, but his father likes scenes. If he wants one, he’ll have to come get Arthur, and one lesson he learned early on was to press the home court advantage.

Of course, the second he’s out of the building and down the street far enough to be out of sight, he has to stop for a minute and breathe because he might have just done something incredibly stupid. He won’t be able to help anyone else like Freya, that’s for certain, but a big move like this is the only way to force his father’s hand, and if Arthur stays at the company he’ll just have to go over everyone’s records with a fine-toothed comb and make sure any word of magic never makes it to his father.

Arthur goes home, and doesn’t take the turn down the road that would lead him past Taliesin’s shop. He’s not sure he wants to see the results of this morning’s work, at least not yet. For a while, he pretends to do actual work, going through files and case reports he’s been putting off and avoiding his e-mail. A little while after noon, though, he gives up, makes himself an omelet, and opens up his liquor cabinet.

It’s been quite some time since he went about getting drunk quite this methodically--probably since the first time he had a team member fired by his father for being a magic user while he stood helplessly by. Arthur settles himself on his couch with the television blaring something inane and pours himself a new glass of something every half hour or so. The drinks get larger and more frequent as the afternoon wears on and first his mobile, then his land line, start ringing every few minutes. They’re all from his father, he notes when he struggles off the couch to piss, so at least gossip hasn’t got to his friends yet. He doesn’t want to know how Morgana will react.

The calls from his friends start around six thirty, when he’s sprawled out on the couch drunker than he’s been since uni and still miserable and unable to forget what dangerous ground he’s on. Morgana first, of course, perhaps because his father swallowed his pride and called her. Then Elena, and Gwaine, and Gwen and Lancelot and Leon and Elyan and he can almost see the gossip run through their group based on whose name is lighting up his caller ID.

It’s almost an accident when he hits the “talk” button when Merlin’s name appears, sometime around eight. “Hello?” he slurs, or at least thinks it sounds like a greeting.

“...What?” says Merlin, sounding wrong-footed. “Why the hell would you answer my call and not anyone else’s? You’re an hour and a half late for dinner at Elena’s, you know. We’ve had to eat without you in between calling you to make sure you aren’t dead on a highway.”

“Ah.” He tries to muster up a polysyllabic response to that. “I’d forgotten. About dinner. Tell everyone sorry, yeah?”

“Arthur, are you _drunk_? It’s a Monday night!”

“I might be fired. Or maybe I quit. I don’t know. M’employment status is uncertain.”

“You what?” Someone in the background--probably Morgana, it’s always Morgana, and Merlin said they’re all together--says something. “No, I’ll tell you later, just let me talk to him for now,” Merlin answers, and goes back to talking to Arthur. “Where are you? How much have you had to drink?”

“My flat, of course.” Arthur hasn’t had a drink in nearly an hour, some sort of self-preservation kicking in, and he’s feeling exhausted and more than a bit ill. “And I don’t know. First there was the brandy, but that was only half full. And then the vodka, but that was only a third and it tastes like shit straight. And then Bailey’s, but there’s still some left.”

“Oh, gods.” Someone’s talking to Merlin again. “He’s on a fucking bender, Morgana, this isn’t the time. Arthur, you stupid twat, are you _trying_ to give yourself alcohol poisoning? Someone needs to check on you, make sure you won’t die in the night.”

“Mmm,” Arthur agrees, and drops the phone. He thinks he hears one indignant squawk out of it, but it’s drowned out by the noise of the telly, which is playing the news, and he falls asleep to yet more dire predictions about the economy and the elections.

Eventually, he realizes that there’s some sort of banging noise going on outside his flat, or inside it, or maybe in his head, but he can’t quite bring himself to stand up and do anything about it, because he suspects he’s going to vomit if he actually moves very much. The banging stops quickly enough, though, and Arthur settles back into sleep--only to feel a hand on his forehead what feels like a few seconds later. He makes a noise that’s unintelligible even to him.

“I am going to kill you,” says Merlin conversationally.

Arthur blinks his eyes open to find Merlin standing over him, brows knit. “Hangover,” he argues in what passes for witty repartee at this stage of his alcohol-induced haze.

“Yes, that will be a bitch.” Merlin looks at the coffee table, where the bottles he’s been pouring from are placed in a neat line. “I don’t understand how you didn’t actually explode.”

It occurs to Arthur to ask how Merlin got into his flat when he locked it just the same as always, but it takes several seconds to figure out how to get the words out of his mouth. “You got in?”

“Magic. Most of the others offered to come, but I figured … well, you answered my call for a reason, right?” Arthur makes an agreeable noise, although at this point he’s not entirely certain what that reason was. “And I sort of had to--what happened with your father?”

“Father?”

“Damn it. I should get you into a bed. You couldn’t have answered a call one or two drinks earlier so we could get some sense out of you?”

“You didn’t call before that,” he points out, and closes his eyes again.

Merlin breathes out hard. “No, I suppose I--no, Arthur, come on, open your eyes, we should probably make you get rid of whatever alcohol you haven’t got in your system yet before you sleep.”

“Can’t make vomit sound appealing.” He opens his eyes just in time for Merlin to get an arm underneath his shoulders and lever him into a half-sitting position. He swallows several times to stave off the effects of the rapid movement. “Why are you here?” he thinks to ask belatedly.

Merlin keeps working at manhandling him to his feet, with surprising amounts of success. Arthur hopes he remembers in the morning so he can be suitably impressed. “Didn’t want you to die of alcohol poisoning, as your veins probably contain more vodka than red blood cells at this point.” He hauls Arthur to his feet and Arthur thinks about anything and everything but his roiling stomach. Liquid dinner might not have been the best idea. “And I was the one whose call you answered. Some sort of responsibility there, I guess.”

“Sent Morgana,” Arthur manages. And then “no, bedroom” when Merlin seems inclined to set him up in his bathroom for the night.

“Morgana is not good to have around while drunk, I know you know this. Especially when she’s mad at you, which she is, what with you not answering your phone for more than an hour.”

“Father.”

It takes Merlin a moment to get that, or maybe he’s just busy hauling Arthur through the door to his bedroom and half-tossing him onto the bed before going to work on his shoes. “That must have been some fight you two had. What over?”

“Magic. Hiring.”

Merlin surveys him once he’s finished taking off Arthur’s shoes. “Your dry cleaner might yell, but you’re going to have to sleep like that tonight. Here, let me put your bin next to the bed, I have a feeling you’re going to need it. And what the hell possessed you to take on your father of all people over that?”

If he trusted himself to get out more than a few words at once, there’s a lot Arthur could say to that. Freya. His most recent vision in Taliesin’s shop, of a life without Merlin but helping magic users nonetheless and away from his father’s ever-increasing bitterness and bigotry. Only one word makes it through, though. “You.”

He squints in the dark to see the way Merlin’s eyes go wide, how his mouth goes round with a soundless exclamation for a second. “I’d better--are you going to be okay on your own?”

Arthur’s been drunk and alone before, and while he isn’t looking forward to the morning, he could survive it. Still, he doesn’t want to be alone, and it’s getting harder and harder to fight off sleep by the second. “No. Stay.”

If Merlin answers, it takes long enough that Arthur’s too far gone to hear or understand. But he does notice when Merlin sits down on the other side of the bed just as Arthur drifts off and rests a hand on his hair.  
*  
Arthur wakes up with his head pounding and his mouth tasting like something died in it and remembers everything backwards.

Merlin is in his flat. Or at least he was. Not because they had sex again, but because Arthur had answered his phone drunk and Merlin had been … worried? He thinks Merlin was worried. He knows he asked him to stay, but when he flails a hand out to check he’s alone in his bed and the sheets are cold.

Merlin was worried because Arthur was drunk and not answering his phone, and Arthur was drunk because … oh. He sits up carefully, head still pounding, and reaches for the bin placed by his bed--that must have been Merlin too. After a few seconds, his stomach stops complaining about him moving and he dares to open his eyes and squint at the clock. He’s an hour late for work, if he still has a job.

Now that he’s properly awake and at least temporarily upright, Arthur notes the smell filtering into his room. Cooking eggs and coffee, which means that either Merlin called someone else to look after him or he’s still here. That makes Arthur curious enough to overcome his headache and get out of bed.

Once he’s upright, he gets out of the mess of wrinkles that he’s still wearing from yesterday and finds a t-shirt and jeans, not to mention a clean pair of pants. All that goes to make him feel a great deal less disgusting, despite the taste in his mouth, so he decides to brave the rest of his flat.

The smell of eggs and coffee, as well as that of bacon, gets much stronger when Arthur opens his bedroom door, and the curtains in his living room are thrown open. He shields his eyes and peers into the kitchen, where Merlin is standing awkwardly with a spatula in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. “I didn’t know whether I should wake you up or not,” Merlin says eventually. “And then I figured the smell would get you up.”

“Yes. Thank you. You didn’t have to cook.”

Merlin shrugs. “I’m hungry too.”

“You could have left.”

“You asked me to stay.”

“I suppose I did.” There isn’t much else he can say to that without insulting Merlin, and he doesn’t want to do that. “I didn’t think I had bacon,” he adds, peering at the stove.

“You didn’t. I went out earlier.”

“Oh.” Arthur tries to get a handle on the situation, but it’s been a long time since he woke up to someone in his flat, and his hangover is still pounding in his temples, so he just cautiously walks over to his table and sits down. “It’s very kind of you. Far better than if you’d called Morgana or something.”

“I had to deal with Morgana when I had a hangover once.” Merlin sets a cup of coffee in front of Arthur, and Arthur immediately takes a huge gulp of it, which goes a long way towards erasing the taste in his mouth. He concentrates on the mug--one of his biggest, he notes, and he is going to have to buy Merlin dinner or something to thank him--while Merlin bustles around the kitchen and finally sits down with a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon for each of them. They eat in silence for a second. “Your phone started ringing at six thirty,” says Merlin at last. “I took it off the hook. Your mobile’s been ringing too, but I think it’s out of battery now because it stopped about forty minutes ago.”

“Probably my father, since I wouldn’t speak to him yesterday.”

“Right.” Silence for all of five seconds, and then Merlin slams down his cup without warning, making Arthur’s headache flare, and stares at him. “Okay, I’ve got to ask. I shouldn’t be nosy, you weren’t in your right mind last night, but what _happened_? I mean, obviously it’s to do with your father, but it must have been pretty bad, and you said you might be fired. Is that why you aren’t at work?”

Arthur tries to think of the simplest way to put it. “I sent an e-mail to my father saying we ought to hire more magic users, given the current political climate, and sent it to Human Resources as well. We had a bit of a … disagreement over it.”

“I imagine you did.” Merlin fidgets with his fork. Arthur takes a bite of the eggs, which are delicious, and then has to force himself to swallow because his stomach is still unsteady. “How much of last night do you remember?”

He has to think about it for a minute, running through his foggy memories again. “There aren’t any huge gaps in my recollections that I can tell, but that doesn’t mean I remember absolutely everything. Did I say something embarrassing?”

“You said you did it for me,” Merlin says softly, staring at his plate. “Stood up to your father, I mean. And I … is that true?”

Arthur thinks through the night before again, remembers slurring the word out because it seemed to sum up all the other reasons he had. He tries to think of a proper answer, because he owes Merlin that for somehow dragging him into the shambles he’s made his life into in the past twenty-four hours. “In a way, I suppose. More because of the visions.” Merlin’s eyes go wide. “Not the--not the marrying part, stop looking like you’re about to flee, that’s not what I meant. Just, every single time I was working for magic users somehow, even in the last one, when we weren’t together.” He corrects himself. “Especially in the last one.”

Merlin gives him a lopsided smile. “So you decided to fall right into that just like you fought against falling into being with me?”

“No.” He struggles to think of how to say it, just like he’s been struggling with it in his mind for the past few weeks. “I decided to _choose_ it. It won’t be exactly like I saw in the visions, but I wouldn’t want it to be. I just … I’ve always known my father is a bigot. I just thought I would stay under the radar and change things when he retired.”

“For what it’s worth--and I know it’s not worth much--I’m glad you’ve decided not to wait. It means a lot, to people like--people like Freya.”

“It’s worth a lot,” he says, more fiercely than he intends, then scrambles to temper it. “Coming from someone who’s spent the first several years of our acquaintance needling me about my father, that is.”

“Well.” Merlin shrugs and eats a few bites of his eggs, probably for dramatic emphasis. “I suppose you’re not so bad. You just take getting used to.”

Arthur rolls his eyes, and things are almost normal, if he can forget about the fact that he might not have a job (though that’s not too much of a worry, not yet, since he has enough of a nest egg to pay his rent and his food for quite some time) and Merlin is sitting across the table from him, having made breakfast after Arthur asked him to stay, drunk and pathetic. Then, of course, his mouth gets away from him and ruins it. “What were you doing, in the vision when we weren’t together?”

This time, when Merlin stops to eat a few bites, it looks more like a stalling tactic than a theatrical one. Arthur follows suit, though he’s more trying to make sure nothing else embarrassing slips out. “Exactly what I’m training to do. Social work, and all that. I was babysitting Gwen and Lance’s kid, though, in the vision.”

“Were you--” Arthur has to ask, his headache and maybe a bit of alcohol still in his system conspiring to make him keep talking. “Were you happy? Not content, I mean. Happy like we both were when we were married.” _Were you with someone else?_ He manages to hold that part back, at least.

“No,” says Merlin, after an excruciating silence. “But that doesn’t necessarily mean a lot. I could look tomorrow and be perfectly happy on my own, or with someone new.”

“Of course. Of course, I know that. I just … wondered.”

“So you weren’t?” asks Merlin. Arthur shakes his head, and they both return to their meals. Merlin bolts the rest of his before he speaks again. “I’d better go, I have class.”

“Yes. I’m sorry for detaining you. And thank you for coming. You didn’t have to.”

“Yes I did,” says Merlin, and then he puts his dishes in the sink and leaves with the quickest farewell he can give.

Arthur finishes his eggs and bacon and two cups of coffee, e-mails the office to tell them he’s taking a week of vacation time (and ignores the twenty-three e-mails his father has sent him), and goes back to bed.  
*  
When Arthur wakes up again, it’s well after noon and he feels human again, if tired. That means, he supposes, that it’s time to face the music, so he brushes his teeth and takes a quick shower to get the grime off before going out into his living room and putting his phone back on the hook. It starts ringing, of course, thirty seconds later, because his father doesn’t know how to leave well enough alone. Surely he’s received word of Arthur’s short leave of absence already.

“Hello, father,” he says when he picks up the phone.

Uther’s voice is dangerously low. “Where have you been?”

“Surely you’ve been informed that I am using a week of my vacation time.”

“We are having this discussion, Arthur, whether you want to or not.”

“I could hang up this phone right now.” It’s not a real threat and they both know it. Neither of them tends to run from confrontation, and that’s a trait he’s not ashamed of inheriting. “And if you’ve called to tell me to take it back, you might as well be the one to end the call.”

“I’m calling to tell you that you’re a fool if you think I’m going to let you dismantle everything this company stands for just because you think you know best.”

Arthur takes a deep breath and counts to three. “Everything the company stands for. So the company stands for bigotry, then? Magic and its use have nothing to do with what our company does, it’s just your past getting in the way of tapping into an important part of the workforce.”

“I am your father and your employer and you--”

“Have a right to voice my opinion just like any employee.” Arthur squares his shoulders even though his father can’t see him. “Support for magic users is on the rise, and pretty soon companies sympathetic to their cause are going to stop doing business with Pendragon. We’re not so well-off that we can afford that.”

“And what gave you this great epiphany?” asks Uther, icy, every inch the employer and not the father, though he’s never been good at the latter. Arthur and Morgana brought each other up far better than he could. “I’d wondered when you asked about the girl from your team. I suppose next you’ll ask to be transferred to Wales to be with her.”

“My intervention on Freya’s behalf was not based on romantic interest. I would have done it for anyone else in our employ. Anyone who does his or her job, at least.”

“Then why haven’t you done it before? You kept her job, Arthur, now be reasonable and let that be an end to it.”

Arthur doesn’t think he’s ever disliked his father this much, not even when he was in his teens and practically required to hate him. “If you’re allowed to spend your whole life working against them because of my mother, aren’t I allowed to work for them, if it’s for someone I care about?”

Uther, of course, continues to assume that Arthur is doing this all for Freya. “You don’t care about the girl, Arthur, you hardly know her.”

“What if it’s for Morgana?”

Morgana and Ygraine are the two lines they never, ever cross in their conversations, and Arthur barely cares that he’s dragged them both out in this one. His father obviously does, because he’s silent for longer than he ever lets himself be during arguments. “Take your week off if you must, Arthur, and remind yourself who your family is in the mean time.”

His family isn’t just his father anymore, though, like it was for his whole childhood and much of his adolescence, at least until Morgana came to live with them. Now it’s Morgana, and Gwen and Lancelot and their new child, and Leon and Elena and Gwaine and Elyan and even Merlin. That’s what gives him the courage to say “She’s your family too, no matter how much you deny it” before he hangs up.

Arthur doesn’t open his liquor cabinet again, though it’s a temptation despite the headache still throbbing at his temples. Instead, he plugs in his mobile and takes care of the e-mails and delegation he needs to do to make sure his department keeps running smoothly in his unexpected absence. His team is generally quite self-sufficient, but he likes to be sure. After that, he turns on the television again, and puts in a movie he’s had rented for weeks when he discovers that nothing good is showing.

Morgana calls at five thirty, and since all his other friends seem to have decided on radio silence, Arthur decides that he can put up with her ribbing for a few minutes. “Hello?”

“Now he answers,” she snaps, which is about what he was expecting, and then she surprises him. “Are you okay?”

“Why do you ask?”

He knows that’s the wrong question before he’s even finished asking it, but he doesn’t try to rephrase, just lets her harangue him. “Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps because you didn’t show up to dinner last night and didn’t answer phone calls and then answered one from _Merlin_ of all people. Perhaps because Merlin informed us that you were on a bender and ran off after telling us none of us were to come unless he said differently. He called me at my lunch break today and told me that I was to check up on you when I got the chance. What on earth is your problem?”

“Merlin didn’t tell you?”

“Just told us all to leave be last night and then told me to call you today, Arthur, that’s all. What had you so drunk you missed dinner?”

It’s even odds whether she’ll be sympathetic or smug when he tells her he’s had a fight with his father that he might not be able to fix, but Morgana generally knows how far she can push him before he’ll snap and is kind enough not to do it. “I fought with Father.”

“About?” she asks, even though she probably knows.

Arthur tells her the story, from Merlin’s phone call about Freya to his miserable chat with his father earlier. He leaves out most of Merlin’s part of the past two days, though; she knows what she needs to know and he still has to think it over some more before he can talk about Merlin. “He probably wanted to make sure I’m not drinking again,” he tacks on at the end, when she doesn’t comment.

“Oh, Arthur.” Her voice is a bit unsteady. “What do you think you’re going to do?”

He shrugs, even though she can’t see it. “I haven’t made any decisions yet. Things can’t go on as before, I won’t move on that, but he’s my father. I can’t forget that.” Arthur winces, since Morgana spends a great deal of her time trying to forget that. “He’s the only connection to my mother I’ve got,” he adds, embarrassingly quiet.

“Morgause knew her,” says Morgana, but it isn’t a jibe. “I know you two don’t get along, but she’s family too. You can ask.”

“She’s your family.”

“Ours,” she snaps, pretending to be impatient, but he knows her better than that, and is proven right when she speaks again. “You’ve got all of us, you know that, don’t you?”

“I know that.” Arthur clears his throat; the conversation is getting a bit over-emotional for either of their comfort. “For the gods’ sake, if even Merlin came to take care of me when I was pissed and being an idiot, I didn’t figure I’d be left alone if I left Pendragon.”

“Yes. Even Merlin.” Her tone speaks volumes. “Merlin, who started this whole chain reaction by calling you about Freya.”

“I hope you think better of me than to think I did this because I wanted to impress someone.”

“Of course I do. I’m just wondering when you or Merlin will do something about this, one way or the other.”

Arthur thinks of the shambles that is his life, and how unlikely it is he’ll have time to think about romancing _anyone_ , let along Merlin of all people, until he’s done something about that. “I rather think I have bigger things to worry about right now, Morgana, though your concern is touching and appreciated. Merlin and our possible destiny will have to wait until after I’ve figured out my employment status, a new job if that becomes relevant, and whether or not I’ll be disowned if I don’t give in to my father.”

Morgana sighs, like he’s missed the point entirely. “I don’t care if you have a possible destiny. Seers generally don’t. We see how things change. I just care that no matter what else happens in my visions, when you’re with Merlin, you’re happy. I saw you married to Gwen years ago, and you were content enough, and then married to and divorced from both Sophia and Vivian, and even saw you with Gwaine, a bit, when you first met him, but none of it compares.” She lowers her voice while he’s still catching his breath. “And he’s always happiest with you.”

“I’ll think about it when I’ve fixed my latest mess,” Arthur manages to repeat after a few seconds of gaping silence. It’s been a long time since Morgana actually shocked him with anything pertaining to her visions.

“Do.” There’s the sound of a door shutting at her end of the line. “Elena and Gwaine and I are going out to dinner. I don’t think they’d mind too much if you came along, and I can tell them not to ask about what’s going on if you’d rather not talk about it.”

Arthur mentally goes over the contents of his refrigerator, not to mention his level of motivation to cook. “Just tell me where to meet you,” he says after a few seconds. “I’ll be there.”  
*  
The next Monday, Arthur goes into his office, unpacks his briefcase, and looks around at his team, all of whom are trying not to stare. Then he packs his briefcase again, nods around the room, and walks right back out. When he’s a block away, he ducks into a cafe and opens his laptop to write an e-mail to Human Resources, CCed to his father: _I regret to say that I must tender my resignation at Pendragon, effective immediately. Thank you for the opportunity._

He sends it before he can give himself time to regret or rethink. He’s known since he walked out of the office last week that the only reason to go back would be to try to help people like Freya in whatever way he can, and it wasn’t until he walked back in that he realized how useless that is. If he stayed, his father would be watching his every move and hobbling him wherever he could. He’ll do more good on his own, if he can figure out what to do.

That’s too big a question for the moment, though, and Arthur’s at loose ends. If he goes back to his flat, chances are he’ll pace a rut in the floor, which he’s been trying to avoid doing on his break from work. His friends are all at work, and while he knows they would probably leave if he told them what he’s done and come to him, he can’t quite bring himself to call any of them.

Instead, he buys a coffee when the barista glares and walks out into the city, not entirely sure where he’s going until he ends up three storefronts down from Taliesin’s. From there, it’s all too easy to walk into the shop, and give Taliesin behind the counter an awkward wave.

Taliesin doesn’t say anything for just long enough to make Arthur uncomfortable. He just stands there, leaning on the counter and giving Arthur a somber, intense stare that makes him wonder if Taliesin saw him dying or something. “This is the last time I’ll serve you,” the seer says at last.

Arthur was expecting nearly anything but that. “What?”

“It’s too easy to get addicted to the future if you look at it too often. That’s why seers have to learn how to take it when a grain of salt. Some of us make our living catering to the addicted, but I don’t. You ought to live in the present.”

He gapes for nearly a minute before collecting his wits enough to answer. “I don’t think I’m in much danger of that, if only because my sister would string me up by my ears, but thank you. I’m really only here because--”

“You’ve managed to blow up your life and want to see what’s there when the debris clears,” Taliesin finishes for him.

Arthur has to pause to think about that again. “You said you don’t foresee your customers.”

“No, but I’m not a fool either,” says Taliesin, and walks towards the back room without giving Arthur a chance to ask any more questions. When Arthur follows him back, he’s already removing one of the biggest crystals from one of the higher shelves. “This one’s strong. Hopefully you’ll see what you need to see.”

This time, Arthur does his best to clear his mind before he takes the crystal. He doesn’t want to ask a specific question, about Merlin or his father or anything, because Morgana always says questions are limits. When he looks down, it’s barely a fraction of a second, and then--

 _He’s at a party again, but not the same one as last time, because he knows many of the people at this one. Morgana and Elena are spinning around on the dance floor, tipsy and laughing while Gwaine takes pictures. Lancelot is carrying around a sleeping toddler and Gwen is holding another baby, talking quietly to Elyan. Leon is talking seriously with--gods, is that Nimueh Lake? Even Freya is in a corner, talking with a dark-haired woman who looks a lot like--_

 _“You’re thinking too hard.” An arm slides around his shoulders and when Arthur-in-the-future turns Arthur isn’t the least bit surprised to see Merlin there beside him. “Upset that he didn’t come?”_

 _“I knew he wouldn’t.” Arthur-in-the-future draws Merlin close for a thorough kiss, and it isn’t until Arthur feels the gentle scrape of metal across stubble that he realizes exactly what it is that he’s witnessing. Of course. He’s seen a few weeks after, he’s seen the proposal, even if things won’t play out just like that in this world. Of course he’s seeing the wedding. “I’m happy. I wasn’t even thinking about him just then, you know.”_

 _Merlin rolls his eyes. “Liar. He’s the only thing that makes you look that serious.”_

 _“I feel like I should be offended that you think I only take one subject seriously. You’re my husband, you know, you shouldn’t be insulting me.”_

 _Whatever retort Merlin is building up gets swallowed by his soppy grin, and Arthur knows he probably looks just as stupidly besotted. “Husband,” Merlin says belatedly._

 _“Yes, that was rather the point of the exercise.” Arthur-in-the-future waves to someone that Arthur doesn’t know now. Either a friend or coworker of Merlin’s or someone that he meets in whatever new life he’s going to build. “I think that would be hard to miss. What with the rings.”_

 _Merlin takes that as his cue to catch Arthur’s hand in his and kiss the ring. “Maybe now all the journalists will stop flirting with you.”_

 _“That’s a hopeless dream. I’m irresistible, you know. Up-and-coming politician and all that.” Merlin whacks him in the arm, and Arthur-in-the-future just grins at him. “Abusing me already, Merlin? I fear for our future.”_

 _“Keep up being obnoxious, and you’re sleeping on the floor in the suite tonight, I don’t care if the bed is big enough for five people. I can keep you off it.”_

 _“Theoretically, yes, but why would you want to?”_

 _Merlin gives him a lopsided smile. “Fair point, well made. Now come on, Morgana’s going to laugh at us forever if we don’t get out on the dance floor at least--”_

Arthur puts the crystal down slowly, doing his best to keep his breathing even and his face expressionless. He and Merlin are together again, and it takes a while to comes to terms with how much he _wants_ that. Wants the happiness threaded through the whole vision, wants Merlin mocking him and kissing him, wants their friends all gathered round. “Are you satisfied?” Taliesin asks.

“I think I am,” says Arthur, and looks up. “Thank you. Perhaps I’ll stop by again to chat sometime. Shall we settle up?”

Taliesin smirks the whole time Arthur’s paying his fee, and sends him off with a clap on the back and a promise to live in the present for a while. Arthur picks up his briefcase again and wanders the city a bit, unwilling to go back to his flat when there’s so much on his mind and itching to call Merlin, to see if maybe he wants to choose that future as well.

He nearly drops the phone when Merlin’s name lights up the caller ID on his mobile just as Arthur is taking a seat next to a pond in the park. “Yes, hello?”

“Arthur.” Merlin’s breathless, a little shocked, and Arthur wonders for a mad moment if he picked today of all days to look for a vision as well and saw what Arthur did, because Merlin sounds almost exactly like Arthur feels at the moment. “You quit,” he says then.

“Right. I did.” Arthur blinks. “Wait, how do you know? I haven’t even told Morgana yet, gossip can’t possibly be traveling that fast.”

“Freya told me. Says she got an e-mail from a friend in Human Resources half an hour ago, just called me ten minutes ago when she could get away. Why did you quit?”

“I couldn’t stay, as simple as that. I was going to try to stick it out a while longer, but I couldn’t stay. I can’t change anything while I’m there.”

The line is silent for a few seconds. “So what are you going to do next?”

“I haven’t exactly got a long-term plan as of yet, in case my night of drunken debauchery last week didn’t clue you in.” He’s starting to have the glimmer of an idea, maybe, but he won’t jinx it, and part of it is Merlin’s choice just as much as his. “Maybe politics. Maybe law, I was Business and Law at school and it wouldn’t take as long as it could to be able to practice.”

“You would be a good lawyer. You can certainly argue a person to death.” Arthur laughs, and it must sound a bit hysterical, because when Merlin speaks again he sounds worried. “Look, I know I’m probably the last person you want around right now, but do you want some company, just to take your mind off things? I’ve got a lecture this afternoon, but I could skip.”

“Don’t do that, I’m a grown man, I ought to be able to sort out my own life.”

“But you don’t need to do it on your own. Sure you don’t want me there? It’s an excuse to skip a boring seminar, we’ve got a Seer coming into talk about job counseling, like I don’t get my ear talked off about hypotheticals where I intern anyway.” He pauses. “Or you could call Morgana or Gwen or something. Of course.”

“Morgana will smirk and Gwen will coo,” Arthur says, even though he knows it isn’t true. “You’re a far better option. Don’t skip your lecture, though.” He takes a deep breath. “Maybe let me buy you dinner? I owe you for coming over last week, not to mention cooking me breakfast.”

Arthur can almost hear Merlin thinking frantically, trying to figure out what Arthur is doing and if it means he’s throwing their efforts at not getting married to the dogs (which he is, in a way, but only if Merlin says yes as well). “You don’t have to do that,” says Merlin at last.

It might be Merlin saying no, in his own polite way, not that he’s ever really been polite to Arthur. In fact, it probably is. Arthur gives it one more shot anyway. “I’d like to, though.”

“Are you--”

“I’d like to treat you to dinner,” says Arthur, and that’s the closest to a confession that he’ll get.

“Okay,” Merlin says. “Okay. I’ll … my lecture gets out at five.”

“I’ll stop by your flat around six, if that’s enough time for you.”

“That’s … yeah. Okay. Six.” Merlin sounds more confused than anything else; Arthur doesn’t know quite how to read it. “Bye, Arthur,” he adds in a small voice, and hangs up.  
*  
“So,” Arthur asks when he and Merlin have been staring at each other over the doorstep of Merlin’s building for a good minute and they haven’t got much beyond “hello,” “what are you in the mood to eat this evening?”

That seems to be Merlin’s cue to step out and shut the building door. “There’s a nice little place a few streets over, they do a good ravioli.”

“Ravioli it is, then,” says Arthur, and stuffs his hands in his pockets as Merlin starts leading them down the street. “Thank you for agreeing to come out. I didn’t want to be on my own, and anyone else would have made it a group occasion.”

Merlin shoots him a quick sideways glance and then goes back to staring at the pavement. “You aren’t feeling very celebratory, then?”

“I don’t feel as if it’s hit me quite yet.” He hasn’t checked his e-mail since he sent in his resignation, but he made the mistake of listening to the message his father left on his answer phone when he went back to his flat to change and drop off his things, and it was a rant on betrayal and family that the beep cut off midway through. His mobile has been silent since Merlin called, but Arthur doesn’t expect that to last long if he keeps ignoring his father at every turn, which is his current strategy. “I imagine that tomorrow morning I’ll wake up either wanting to shoot off fireworks or ready to panic. We’ll have to see which.”

Merlin reaches out and squeezes his elbow before letting his hand drop. “Is it kind of weird and creepy if I say that I’m really proud of you?”

Arthur can’t help laughing at that, just a bit. “Maybe, but it’s good to hear so I don’t much care. I imagine I’ll get it from Morgana as well, but she’ll just sound smug about it.”

“She sounds smug about most things. Gwen might say it, she tends to be good at things like that.”

They’ll all think it, he’s relatively sure, in some form or other. It’s part of what’s getting him through the day. Gwaine will laugh at him, Leon will wrinkle his brows and get worried, Elyan will roll his eyes, Elena will flutter awkwardly about, Lancelot will be very serious about it, Gwen will get teary-eyed, and Morgana will get smug, but they’ll all be pleased and proud. “I’m glad to hear it from you, though,” he says at last, when Merlin gives him a questioning look and he realizes they’ve gone half a block without him saying a word.

“Any reaction from your father?” Merlin asks.

“Nothing good, and I haven’t even checked my e-mail. I imagine I’ll hear a great deal over the next few months, and even when he cools down he won’t let me forget it. If he cools down. I don’t know, he mentioned disowning me when he left a message earlier, but I don’t think he actually would.”

Arthur doesn’t have to look at Merlin to imagine the wince, and when Merlin speaks again he sounds painfully cheerful. “Well, on the bright side, you’ve still got me.” He coughs. “And all of us.”

“That will be a great comfort to me while I’m unemployed, thank you.”

Merlin catches his arm and tows him down a side street when Arthur doesn’t see him turn. “You won’t be unemployed. You may not have a plan just yet, but I don’t imagine that will last very long.”

“I suppose not. Aren’t I allowed a few hours to wallow, though?”

“Oh, right, of course, I didn’t mean to--”

“Merlin.” Arthur puts his hand over Merlin’s on his arm and nearly trips when Merlin stops instantly to look at him. “I was joking. It’s all right.”

“Oh.” Merlin starts them walking again, and drops Arthur’s arm when he moves his hand. Arthur tries not to be discouraged by that--he doesn’t have any illusions that figuring out whatever this is going to be between them will be a fast or easy process. “I’ll still try to keep my advice about your future to a minimum. It’s a side effect of the degree, you know, wanting to help everyone.”

“I may not have known you before you went to university, Merlin, but I am absolutely certain that you wanting to help people started long before you started your degree.”

At that, Merlin actually laughs. “My mother could tell you stories, I’m sure. I had a bit of a tendency for bringing home stray animals. And Will, who’s nearly a stray animal himself.”

“I’ve heard you mention him a few times. Childhood friend?”

“And partner in crime, and first boyfriend, and part-time agony aunt. He still lives back home.” Merlin grins. “Though he gets up to so much trouble without me that I sometimes wonder if he’s going to get run out of town on a rail. Hopefully my mother will prevent that.”

“You two must have been the terror of the village,” Arthur offers, to see how long he can keep the smile on Merlin’s face. Besides, for all he’s known Merlin for years he doesn’t know much about his past and it seems as good a time as any to talk about it.

“Pretty sure we were responsible for every hair on old Mr. Simmons’s head turning white. And then for him losing it all.”

Arthur prompts him to talk about it more, and the conversation lasts for the few blocks to the restaurant, which is in a narrow building in between an art gallery and a little boutique. They are, he realizes a few seconds later, only a block or two down from Taliesin’s; he just usually comes at it from the other direction. He allows himself one second to wonder if that’s the shop where Merlin went the time he saw them apart, and then shakes off the thought. “Shall we go in?”

The waitress greets Merlin by name and gives Arthur a funny sideways look that probably means she’s wondering where she recognizes him from (and for all he’s used to being recognized for standing behind his father trying to look interested at press conferences, he really hopes that doesn’t happen tonight), and seats them at the best table in the house, not that there are many tables. Arthur stares at the wine list and Merlin in turns, trying to figure out what the next topic of conversation ought to be.

Merlin, to his surprise, is the one who starts talking first. “So, I’m guessing you don’t want to be this whole night about you quitting, right?” Arthur nods. “Okay, then.” The pause after that goes on long enough that Arthur wonders if he’s going to have to come up with something after all, and then Merlin lets out an exasperated sigh. “You know, for how often we see each other, one would think I would know you better.”

“Believe me, I’m feeling much the same, but I suppose that’s what this meal is supposed to change.” He smiles. “Although I refuse to ask you your favourite colour, that would be a bit too much.”

That, thankfully, loosens things up. They talk more about Merlin’s life growing up in Ealdor, about his mother and Will and his Uncle Gaius who lives in the city, and the constant parade of animals going through their little farm, including a tamed deer if Merlin is to be believed. When that subject is exhausted, long after the waitress has come by to bring them their wine and take their orders for food (two orders of ravioli, since it comes highly recommended), Arthur talks about his family a bit. Not about his father, but about Morgana and Morgause and how exactly they’re related to him, since it’s easy to get confused.

From there, they move on to music and movies and why Nimueh Lake is almost sure to win the elections and a hundred other subjects, and it’s nowhere near as awkward as Arthur had feared it might be. By the time dessert is served, he’s feeling brave enough to offer Merlin a bite of cheesecake off his fork, and Merlin, with a raised eyebrow, takes it and offers Arthur a taste of chocolate cake in return. Arthur can’t keep the grin off his face for the rest of the meal.

It’s half past nine by the time they leave, Arthur refusing to let Merlin so much as look at the bill (although it’s quite reasonable, far more so than anywhere Vivian made him take her), and the walk back to Merlin’s building is slow and quiet, though this time the silence doesn’t feel awkward. As they get closer to Merlin’s building, though, Arthur starts feeling first-date jitters like he hasn’t had in years, which is ridiculous, as they aren’t even on a date, at least not an official one, even if Arthur would like to count it as such. Should he kiss Merlin at the door? Should he offer to do it again sometime?

He still hasn’t figured it out by the time they stop at the doorway of Merlin’s building and stand there stupidly for a bit. “Thank you for a lovely evening,” he says at last. “It’s ended my day far better than I was expecting it to end before you called.”

“I’m glad. Nobody should have to do something like that alone.”

“Well, I’ve got you. And the others, like you said earlier. I’ll probably tell Morgana later, and she’ll give everyone else the gossip on my behalf.”

“Right.” Merlin nods a few times, and then practically lunges forward to wrap Arthur in a hug so tight it almost hurts. “Just--call me if you think I can help?” he whispers right in Arthur’s ear.

Arthur, after a startled moment, gives him a little squeeze in return. “Definitely.”

Merlin pulls back, but not all the way, and Arthur wonders if he’s going to kiss him and leans just a few millimeters forward to try to encourage him. Instead, Merlin lets go of him and takes a step back. “Good luck talking to Morgana, and I’ll talk to you soon.”

With that, he fumbles out his keys and ducks into his building while Arthur is still standing on the doorstep wondering what the hell just happened.  
*  
When Merlin calls at eleven that night, ten minutes after Arthur gets off the phone with Morgana, he doesn’t even let Arthur get a greeting out before he starts talking. “So, I’m thinking I probably should have kissed you earlier, at the door, and maybe you would have come up, but honestly I’m a little confused right now so I’m not sure.”

Arthur swallows around something that he’s pretty sure would have come out as a nervous giggle. “I’d rather hoped you might,” he says in the closest approximation he can get of his usual even tone. “But there’s always next time.”

“Is there? Because like I said, I’m confused. That … that was a date, right? I wasn’t imagining that.”

Merlin’s tone doesn’t give him enough clues. “It doesn’t have to be a date, if you’d rather it wasn’t,” he says at last, since that seems safest.

“But you wanted it to be.” Arthur chooses not to answer that. “No, seriously, you’ve got to answer. You wanted it to be a date. Didn’t you?”

“Yes, but not if you didn’t want it to be. It sort of takes two to make a date.”

Merlin pauses. “No, I’m still confused. Because up until a few weeks ago you didn’t want to marry me, or date me, or probably even see me unless absolutely necessary, and now you’re answering my calls when you’re pissed and upset and you’re asking me out on stealth dates and can you maybe see where there’s a bit of a problem there?”

Of course Merlin asks the question that Arthur isn’t yet sure how to answer. He knows it’s inconsistent, he knows it’s a problem. He just isn’t quite sure how to explain that he’s seen several futures now, and he’s been annoyed, and surprised, and okay, perhaps a bit horrified, but the only one where he came out feeling a little hollow and like something was truly wrong was the one where he and Merlin weren’t together. Especially because he has no desire to sound soppy. “It’s been a hell of a few weeks,” he manages.

“That’s not an explanation.”

“I know it’s not, but I don’t know what to say. Except I think we might have made a mistake.”

After a moment, it seems to occur to Merlin that Arthur’s waiting for a response. “What kind of mistake?”

“Why were we so against dating? We’ll leave the getting married part of things out, just in general.”

Merlin sighs. “We discussed it. Don’t want to be blackmailed by the future, awful in-laws, we don’t get along …”

“Well, the in-laws won’t be a problem any longer.”

“Oh, shit, Arthur, I’m--”

“No matter. Seriously. And we do get along, now. In case you hadn’t noticed.” Merlin doesn’t answer. “As for the being black-mailed by the future …well, it’s more like being blackmailed by ourselves, isn’t it? The crystals and mirrors can’t show us anything we don’t already feel somehow. Right?” They chose to stop seeing each other, to stop talking, and they never got married. They bicker, and they sometimes get along, but when they talk, they end up together. “It’s not destiny or anything, so far as I can tell. We just keep … choosing it.”

“And what made you choose it this time?” There’s a noise Arthur can’t identify in the background.

Arthur struggles for the right words. “I’m happiest when we’re together.” Another mysterious noise. “What the hell are you doing, contacting aliens?”

“I’m.” Merlin stops, and then there’s the unmistakable sound of a car horn. “I’m just walking up to your building, actually, because I sort of thought we ought to have the conversation not over the phone and then I called you to warn you I was coming over and got a bit derailed. Can you buzz me up so I don’t have to break in with magic this time?”

With that, Merlin hangs up, leaving Arthur gaping silently at his mobile before his buzzer goes off insistently. He half-runs to the door to press the button that will let Merlin up, and then stands there while Merlin runs up the three flights of stairs--and of course he wouldn’t take the lift, that would end it all too quickly--so he can throw open the door the second Merlin finishes knocking. “Um. Hello,” says Arthur, when Merlin just stands there silently. “Won’t you come inside?”

“What the hell do you mean, you’re happiest when we’re together?” Merlin steps past him and shuts the door. Hopefully the neighbours aren’t feeling nosy.

Arthur crosses his arms. “I’ve been doing most of the talking in this conversation, and I’m actually rather curious why you were thinking of kissing me earlier if you’re so against it.”

Merlin closes his eyes and leans against the nearest wall. “Look, if we’d never looked into the future and you hadn’t looked so upset and you’d just … acted like you have been since I called about Freya, and not because of the future, then I would have snogged you at the door and not regretted it, and maybe I’m not giving you enough credit, but it’s hard to be sure.”

“I suppose that’s fair.” Arthur has to try hard not to be stung, though. “If it helps, she’s not the first one I tried to help. She’s just the first one I was overt about. And maybe I did it a little bit because of the future, but that’s just because it reminded me that there were choices besides being stuck in that office for the rest of my life trying to undo my father’s mistakes.”

“And what about me?” Merlin looks at him again. “You said it’s because you’re happiest with me. What does that mean?”

Arthur can’t quite stop himself snapping out his answer. “It means, you insecure twat, that I figured out eventually that there’s probably a _reason_ I was happiest with you.” When that just leads to Merlin blinking at him, Arthur lowers his voice and tries it another way. “We argue, yes, and I know you didn’t like me, but I certainly respect you, and did long before Morgana took out that damn mirror of hers.”

“I didn’t dislike you,” says Merlin before Arthur can think what to say next. “I just … expected better of you.” Despite Arthur trying to hide his wince at something his father’s said to him at least once a week since he was sixteen, Merlin instantly looks dismayed. “Not like that! Just, Morgana spoke so highly of you, and then you were sort of a prat at first and things sort of got off on the wrong foot and didn’t get better. Until recently.”

“Yes. Recently.” Arthur rubs a hand over his eyes. “Is it so hard to accept that I like you and want to take a shot at this? It’s not like I’m proposing marriage right now, I accept that things could change and we could part ways in a month and make things horribly awkward at Gwen and Lance’s dinner parties. I just think it’s worth giving a try.”

“So do I. I just--”

“Suspect my motives?”

“No.” Merlin smiles, and Arthur allows himself to relax a bit. “Well, maybe. But less now.”

Perhaps he shouldn’t push, but Merlin is standing straight again and he’s still smiling and while they haven’t worked out everything about the future yet, Arthur’s beginning to think they might actually manage it. “Does that mean I get a second date, then?”

It’s actually comforting when Merlin stops to think about it for a minute, head tilted to the side. “Yeah, I think it does. But first, I’m going to make up for earlier and kiss you.”

Arthur has a half-second to remember that they’re not even in his living room yet and that the corridor leading to the rest of his flat probably isn’t the most romantic place for a kiss before Merlin’s lips are on his. Arthur kisses back with everything he’s got, but Merlin seems to have some sort of point to prove, because he pushes Arthur back a few steps, until he hits the wall, and then presses his body up against Arthur’s to keep him there.

After a minute, the kiss gentles, and Arthur takes the opportunity to do what he didn’t when they had sex for the first time and makes a point of trying to learn what Merlin likes best. It’s a bit of a challenge with Merlin trying to do the same thing to him, but they both seem to manage it. Arthur has to push him off after what could be five minutes or fifteen, when he’s hard enough that if Merlin shifts his hips even half an inch he’s going to know. Merlin’s wounded look has got to be at least half sham, but Arthur leans his head on Merlin’s shoulder anyway, so he can whisper in his ear. “If you don’t want this going further tonight, we need to back off for a while.” He grimaces down at the tight front of his jeans and makes a point of not looking at Merlin’s too closely. “Maybe a long while.”

“We probably shouldn’t. We’ve still got some things to work out.” Merlin disentangles their arms and Arthur reluctantly drops the leg he’s got hooked around Merlin’s knee. “Besides, I don’t put out on the first date.”

“We’ll have to schedule the next one quite soon, then, won’t we?” Arthur just grins when Merlin elbows him and finishes pulling away. “But apart from that, and I promise this isn’t a move, it’s late and I hate the thought of you going all the way across town again, especially since I know you’ll refuse to take a cab even if I offer to pay. Would you like to stay the night? The bed’s big enough for two no problem, or you can take the sofa if you’re worried about your virtue.”

Merlin turns pink. “I know your bed is big, I stayed in it the night you were drunk. On top of the covers, but it’s comfortable.”

Arthur raises an eyebrow. “Is that you accepting my invitation?”

After a second, Merlin nods. “I’ve got to leave early for some interning hours, but here’s about as close to there as my flat is, so it shouldn’t be a problem, as long as you don’t mind me shrinking some of your clothes so I won’t look like a kid in my dad’s closet.”

“Done,” says Arthur, and slings an arm around Merlin’s shoulders to bring him the rest of the way into his apartment.  
*  
Morgana has a dinner party the night after the elections, to celebrate Nimueh Lake’s win. Arthur and Merlin show up at the same time, which is actually an accident because Merlin had a class all afternoon and Arthur was visiting one of his old law professors, a man named Geoffrey who has a few connections to politics and was all too willing to use them when Arthur admitted that he’d broken with his father, and they stand outside her door for a few seconds, fidgeting and trying to figure out what to do. “Are we going in together?” Arthur asks eventually.

It’s not that they’re hiding the fact that they’re dating from their friends. But it’s only been two weeks and six dates and the second their relationship becomes a matter of public record nobody is ever going to let them forget about it, so Arthur is quite enjoying having it as a bit of a secret for now, and Merlin seems to feel the same. “They’ll find out sometime,” says Merlin. “May as well be now.”

Lancelot and Gwen come up the stairs just then, before Arthur can reach out and grab Merlin’s hand, and Gwen immediately loops her arm through Merlin’s and starts chattering about the baby while Lancelot claps Arthur on the shoulder and knocks on Morgana’s door. Any plans of coming in hands linked and making a grand declaration are scrapped when Leon throws open the door and invites them all inside where Gwaine’s pouring wine and Elena is making salad while Morgana fusses over her meat thermometer. The talk is immediately all about the elections and Elyan’s recent promotion and Gwen’s baby and a hundred other things, so Arthur gives Merlin a helpless shrug and just stays close as a compromise.

Nobody notices, not when Arthur and Merlin deliberately choose seats next to each other for once instead of one of them being the last to the table and forced to sit next to the other, not when they deliberately brush shoulders or hands every time they reach for anything. About halfway through dinner, though, while Lancelot is regaling them all about his boss’s irate reaction to Nimueh’s victory, Merlin rests his head on Arthur’s shoulder for just a second before jerking upright. When Arthur looks around, Morgana is watching them with a slightly stunned expression that morphs into a mad grin. Arthur shakes his head before she can do more than open her mouth, and she subsides, still smirking.

Elyan gets it next, sometime between appetizers and the roast Morgana is still getting up occasionally to prod, when Merlin pokes Arthur in the side to get his attention and Arthur just elbows him in return. He looks between them several times, and when Arthur just smirks at him, he gapes. “No way,” he says, a bit too loud, and the table falls silent in the middle of talking about what colour Gwen and Lancelot are thinking about painting their nursery.

“You’re … that against us painting the nursery blue?” says Gwen, blinking at him.

Morgana, bless her, interrupts with a serene smile. “Well, it’s not a very gender-neutral colour, is it? Might want to wait until you know the baby’s sex, you know, or paint it a nice yellow or peach to head that off at the pass entirely. Maybe even green.”

“Yellow is nice,” Elena agrees, and the conversation moves on with only a few more odd looks at Elyan. Arthur catches Merlin’s hand under the table and squeezes it; he wants to say, but he wants to do it on _their_ terms. Merlin squeezes back.

When dinner is over (and the roast is perfect, as Arthur could have told Morgana without checking, since Morgana never makes anything bad), Morgana claps her hands and smiles around the table in a way that Arthur recognizes as the prelude to a terrifying idea. “In honour of the elections and Elyan’s career and … whatever else we might be celebrating, I thought I might take out the scrying mirror again. It isn’t set up, but it’s only a matter of a few minutes to do it.”

“Excellent idea,” says Arthur through his teeth, with a look that he hopes promises endless torment at some unspecified point in her future. “I’ll just clear the table while you do that, shall I?”

Merlin gives him a sideways look and stands up alongside him. “I’ll help out, Arthur.”

Morgana beams at them. “Thank you, lads. Why don’t the rest of you repair to the living room while I get out my mirror?”

Arthur starts collecting plates and silverware while Merlin gets an armful of cups that he must be balancing with magic because he’s nearly as clumsy as Elena and Arthur can tell already that he’s going to have to start keeping extra mugs in his cabinets if Merlin keeps coming over. Everyone else troupes into the living room and Morgana winks at them before disappearing to her bedroom.

“This is going to be interesting,” says Merlin the second they’re in the kitchen and alone, stacking the dishes in the sink. “But look on the bright side, Morgause couldn’t come after all so you won’t have to deal with her and Morgana smirking in stereo.”

Arthur finishes putting down his dishes and puts his arm around Merlin’s waist. “I don’t really care about the mocking, you know. Well, I do, but better sooner than later, I suppose. Gwen would look reproachful if we put it off much longer, and you know I can’t withstand that. I just know we’ve still got some of our own problems to work through, and I don’t particularly want an audience for all the arguments we’re sure to get into.”

Sometimes after Arthur says something, Merlin’s eyes will go soft and he’ll give Arthur a kiss. Arthur hasn’t quite figured out what the pattern is, since once Merlin did it after Arthur announced that he didn’t like sushi, but this is apparently one of those times, because Merlin grabs the collar of his button-up, putting it irreversibly askew if past experience is any guide, and plants his lips on Arthur’s. “They’ve been witnessing our arguments for years, no need to change it now,” Merlin whispers when they part, and then Arthur has to kiss _him_.

There’s a not-very-well-stifled shriek and the sound of a salad bowl smashing on the floor, and Arthur and Merlin jump apart. When Arthur turns, he isn’t the least bit surprised to see Elena standing there looking absolutely gobsmacked with lettuce and vinaigrette all over her shoes, actually pointing at them like someone in a panto. “You! The two of you!” she exclaims.

Morgana’s flat is posh, if not quite as posh as Arthur’s, but it’s not big enough that Elena’s screech didn’t bring everyone poking their heads out of the living room and then coming closer when they see the tableau in the kitchen. Since the game is up anyway, Arthur holds out his hand and waits for Merlin to take it. It takes a few seconds, but he does, and Elena lets out another squeak that Gwen mirrors a second later when she figures it out.

Before Arthur can think of what to say, Morgana pops out of her bedroom, mirror in hand and smug smile firmly in place. “Well, are you going to tell us how long you’ve been keeping secrets? Naughty, Arthur, you let me keep thinking you were heartbroken and I made you _muffins_.”

“I shared them with Merlin,” Arthur says, because he did, and he thought they were congratulations-on-getting-away-from-our-father muffins anyway. “And we figured things out about two weeks ago now.”

“Why don’t I get muffins?” Gwaine asks. “Also, Ellie, you won the pool!”

Morgana swans over to him and pats his cheek. “If you get your heart broken, I’ll make you muffins. Orange pineapple, I know you like that. And yes, Elena, you can collect your winnings from me soon as I find the tin.”

“Oh, fuck off, you didn’t really have a bet.”

“We did,” says Elyan, “and actually, Elena, you don’t get it.” When Arthur peers around everyone to see him, he’s grinning. “They’ve just finally got their act together where dating is concerned. For the fucking bit, Leon won.”

That, of course, brings on quite the uproar, while Elyan lords it over everyone for knowing the full story before even Morgana (and the look in Morgana’s eye promises retribution for this particular surprise, since she understandably thought he’d confided everything there was to the Merlin situation to her) and Arthur tries not to look as mortified as he feels and Merlin turns redder and redder and occasionally tries to extract his hand from Arthur’s grip. “We’re taking things slow,” Arthur interrupts loudly when Gwen and Elena start squealing very disturbing things about a wedding. “And I’d appreciate it if you lot wouldn’t harass my boyfriend.”

His voice betrays him by going a bit soft on the last two words, and Gwen, Elena, and Leon all give him identical fond looks. Which might have something to do with the startled, pleased expression on Merlin’s face. Morgana clears her throat and he reminds himself to buy her something frivolous and expensive when he’s got a job again. “All the more reason to get the scrying mirror out,” she says. “Everyone into the living room.”

Nobody dares disobey Morgana when she’s being firm, so everyone turns around and goes back to the living room and the chairs that someone set out while Arthur and Merlin were in the kitchen, casting occasional reproachful looks behind them. They all pick their seats, and Arthur pushes his a few inches closer to Merlin’s before he sits down. “Could have been worse,” he whispers.

“Just wait until Gwen corners me.”

“I have,” says Morgana with a pointed look at the two of them, “set this up for about five years from now. It’s long enough after the last time I set it for that long that you’ll be getting new things. Who wants to start?”

Gwen and Lancelot end up doing it first, since Gwen is sitting right to Morgana’s left. “Tough night with a second one,” says Gwen when she comes up, and then whacks Lancelot in the arm. “And you were staying late at work, you wanker.”

Lancelot takes the mirror from her. “We’ll see about that.” Twenty seconds later, he comes out of his trance smiling ruefully. “You’re right, but if it’s any help I’m getting ready to go home.”

Elyan’s next, with a night at work that makes him make a disgusted face, followed by Gwaine, who comes out smirking but not talking and Elena, who’s blushing bright red and stares at her lap while she mumbles an obvious lie about being at work. That brings it to Leon, who has thirty seconds and comes back to awareness with his brows knit. “I’m with a woman, we seem to have been together for a while, but I’m quite sure I haven’t met her yet.” He shrugs. “I suppose I will.”

That means it’s Arthur’s turn, and Arthur takes it automatically but doesn’t look right away. He’s chosen quite a lot of things lately based on what he’s seen in visions, and he isn’t really sure if he wants to know what differences the choices have made. Is he still with Merlin? Or will their tentative attempts at a relationship fizzle out because doing it now makes them miss some key event in the future that keeps them together forever? Whatever it is, though, he wants to find out for himself. He looks at Merlin, who’s just watching with his head cocked to the side, and then at Morgana, who rolls her eyes. “Not for me tonight, actually,” he says. “I think I’m just going to take things as they come.”

Merlin beams at him, takes the mirror among the coos and snickers, and passes it on to Morgana without even glancing inside. It looks like they might finally be on the same page.  
*  
 _Four and a half years later_

Arthur kicks the door to their flat shut and drops the takeaway on the table, sushi for Merlin and a microwave meal from the Tesco’s down the street because Arthur refuses to eat anything that’s been prepared in the same vicinity as raw fish. When Merlin doesn’t immediately sweep down on the table, Arthur looks around, and sure enough, there he is on the couch, nodding along to his headphones while he peers at his laptop. “Honey, I’m home,” he shouts, just to be obnoxious, and Merlin jumps.

“I thought you’d be another half hour,” he says by way of apology, and goes back to his laptop, although he at least slips his headphones off. “We’ll eat in here, yeah?”

“I see the romance has gone,” mutters Arthur, but he warms his meal up anyway and puts Merlin’s food on a plate because he always spills it everywhere if he eats from the carton. Merlin just hums and doesn’t bother looking up from his work, which has been eating his evenings for days now but will hopefully end soon when the vote on the latest piece of anti-discrimination legislation goes through. At least all of Arthur’s work on it happens during the day, but Merlin’s volunteering on top of taking care of his clients. Arthur sets their meals down on the coffee table and joins Merlin on the couch, allowing him thirty seconds before poking him. “Come on, you do actually have to eat it, you can’t just pick the nutrients up by osmosis.”

“You and my mother.” Merlin rolls his eyes but obediently eats a few bites before getting distracted again.

Arthur’s too tired to scold him much after a day lobbying among every party that will listen for the law that will hopefully tie his father’s hands for good where hiring policies are concerned, as well as other business owners like him. Instead, he finishes his meal and then buries his nose in Merlin’s hair and nuzzles at him, which gets disappointingly little reaction. So of course he nips Merlin’s ear.

Merlin yelps, and then laughs. “Seriously, Arthur, if I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times, just because they’re large doesn’t mean they’re sensitive.”

Success. Arthur pulls away and grins at him, getting a grin in return. “I just can’t help myself and you know it. And I’m storing up, since chances are you won’t be coming to bed tonight. Again.”

Merlin just smiles, shakes his head, and leans over to kiss Arthur’s jaw. “Pretty soon, I promise, and it will be just like before.”

“Hmm.” Arthur grabs Merlin’s hand when he takes it away from his keyboard for a second and rubs their rings together, then has to look down. Six months on and it’s still sometimes hard to think of Merlin as his husband. “Not quite like before,” he points out, barely paying attention anymore. “Promotion, and all.” He groans and leans back on the couch. “Gods, I don’t want to go back to the office.”

Finally, Merlin puts the laptop down, moving their plates out of the way to do it, and loops his arms around Arthur’s neck. “You’ll be running the world soon enough,” he whispers, and Arthur really can’t do anything but kiss him.

They’re getting farther than they have in more than a week, what with how busy they’ve been and how often their friends require their presence, and Arthur’s just pressing his husband back into the couch to see if he can have his wicked way with him before Merlin remembers he probably ought to be working when he realizes just why the conversation they’ve been having sounds so familiar and bursts out laughing. Merlin pulls back, looking offended, and Arthur has to sit up and take deep breaths to get himself under control. “Sorry, I’m sorry,” he gasps eventually.

“What on earth was that all about?” Merlin asks, still sprawled out on the couch, and Arthur seriously considers shelving the conversation for later.

Instead, he grabs Merlin’s hand again. “Anything about the conversation we just had give you a bit of deja vu, perhaps?”

Merlin squints at him. “Should it have? I am really tired, you know.”

“About five years ago,” Arthur starts, and Merlin’s fingers twitch in his, “Morgana had a dinner party and thought it would be clever to get her scrying mirror out, and--”

It’s Merlin’s turn to burst out laughing. “Oh, _no_. But it wasn’t quite the same, right? So we don’t have to tell Morgana and let her be smug forever?”

“I have no intention of mentioning it to Morgana, and yes, it was a bit different. But still, close enough, for all I think it was in a different context then.” Arthur looks around. “And a different flat.” A year ago, when they were finally moving in together, they’d looked at nearly twenty flats, and the first one that had suited them both had been the one they saw in the first vision. They looked around at it, looked at each other, and walked right out without even inspecting the bedroom.

It’s not the only difference from the futures they saw while they were trying to get things figured out, and Arthur knows he isn’t the only one who catalogues each one and treasures it as a sign that this really is something that they’re doing for themselves. Merlin was the one who proposed, two weeks before Arthur was planning to do it, and he and Morgana together had apparently schemed to get Arthur’s mother’s ring out of the vault and resized. Arthur still wears it, along with his wedding ring, even if it does make Gwaine point out that it makes him the girl every time he remembers to. Some things are the same as the visions, though, and to his surprise, Arthur doesn’t mind that much.

When he looks back at Merlin, he’s propped himself up on his elbows and is just watching Arthur, eyebrows raised. “That’s okay, right? You aren’t going to have some sort of freak-out that this means all that mess was all because you’re destined to buy me sushi and harass me on our couch? Because if so, you can call Morgana, I’m too knackered to deal with it.”

Arthur rolls his eyes and leans over him. “No, because I figured most of that came with the marriage territory. And I would never call Morgana for that, didn’t we just say we’re never telling her because she would be smug forever? I would call Elena, if anyone.”

Merlin snorts. “As if Elena wouldn’t tell Morgana immediately.”

Arthur considers that for a moment. “Leon, then.”

“On a date with Freya tonight,” says Merlin, and Arthur can’t help grinning at that, because setting them up when Freya got a job in London is one of the better ideas he’s had, if he does say so himself. Merlin just laughs and shakes his head. “You’re going to become an inveterate matchmaker in our old age, aren’t you?”

“Probably, with Gwen and Lance’s brood of terrors running around.” He kisses Merlin before pulling away again. “I really, truly, don’t mind. That’s why I was laughing. I actually think we ought to celebrate it. Coming full circle, and all.”

Merlin laughs. “Is this celebrating going to have something to do with the fact that we’ve been too busy to actually use that ridiculous bed you insisted on lately?”

“Or the couch.” Arthur grins at him. “I’m flexible.”

Merlin pulls him back down on top of him, and Arthur goes, arranging their arms into a position that won’t let either of them fall off the couch and putting his lips against Merlin’s with the ease of practice. He probably should insist on going to the bed, since he can’t remember the last night when both of them were on it for a full night’s sleep, but he’s comfortable where he is, and when Merlin inevitably whines afterwards about being hungry since he’s an idiot who doesn’t finish his dinner, the remains of the sushi will be right there. Unless they knock it off the coffee table, and he can’t help laughing into Merlin’s mouth about that. Merlin pulls away just far enough to speak against his mouth. “I love you, you daft sod,” he says, and goes back to kissing Arthur.

And that, Arthur thinks, is more than enough reason to enjoy living in the present.


End file.
